


Salt Brine

by i_buchanan



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Bucky Barnes, POV Alternating, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, slight moral ambiguity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 66,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_buchanan/pseuds/i_buchanan
Summary: The mask stayed securely fastened. Through the fights, through jumping into the Potomac after his target, and even now when hiding in New York. The Winter Soldier's identity remained a mystery through it all. But the longer he's away from HYDRA, the more pieces start to come back to him.Or, the AU where Natasha is the one in charge of Bucky's recovery, and the only ones who don't know who he is are Steve and Bucky.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello (: And welcome to my first chaptered fic in,,, over a year now. I've got about four chapters in reserve right now, so I should be able to post regularly on Mondays, barring any unforeseen events.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and concrit is greatly appreciated. There's no beta-reader, so any faults are my own.

* * *

The Asset found himself at a loss after the failure of Project Insight.

He’d pulled his target out of the water on some long buried instinct that he couldn’t even begin to articulate, and knowing that even if he found a way to do so, there was a good chance that they’d make him forget before putting him on ice until his next mission.

Granted, it had been almost a week and no one had come to collect him, to bring him back to base. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it made worry curl inside of him. A sort of rising anxiety that grew stronger the longer he was on the streets.

They had always found him before, even when he’d tried to hide. Or, he assumed as much, since he vaguely remembered trying to leave at one point, and yet he was still there with him. Still trying to help them fix the world.

It had been five days since his failure, and the Asset was starting to feel profoundly sick.

It started small, cramping in his stomach that didn't feel like hunger but he had a hard time differentiating the two pains regardless. Then came a fever that burned entirely too hot, even in the lighter clothes he’d stolen to wear instead of the leather armor HYDRA had kept him in.

The mask stayed on. It felt too important to discard, even though it was becoming hard to breathe through it. They could maybe forgive the armor, but the mask? He was supposed to wear it at all times, unless a handler took it off of him.

A different long buried instinct demanded that he find someplace quiet and dark  _ immediately _ ; to get away from everyone as soon as possible. He didn't know why that same instinct was insisting that he go to New York, but he followed that as well. There was no mission, no orders, and the Asset was just going to have to rely on that until they came for him.

He tucked himself alongside a building that was tall, ostentatious and at least something in him settled just from being near it. The pain lessened a bit, and he took the opportunity to shut his eyes and try to sleep. He doubted HYDRA would have trouble finding him here.

When he woke up, though, everything felt fuzzy; he was dizzy before he could try to get upright, and immediately he knew something was more wrong than he had earlier anticipated.

He wasn’t in the same place he had fallen asleep in. The room was cold, sterile white walls with bright lights, and while he didn't recognize the particular bonds that held him to the table, he couldn’t budge them either. There was an IV in his arm, clear fluid being fed through the tube.

The fact that the bonds held strong was a bit of a relief. HYDRA had been the only ones who could securely hold him. They found him. They would fix whatever was wrong with him, and hopefully they wouldn’t punish him too badly for failing.

He would get the chair regardless. He knew better than to hope he could avoid that, but if he was lucky…

A door opened with a whir, and while he couldn’t lift his head to see who it is, there was something familiar about the scent of  _ Alpha _ that now filled the room.

There was no sound of advancing steps, but soon enough a woman stood above him, in spite of the fact that he knew she was small compared to him. That she would maybe come up to his shoulder. Her red hair was loose around her shoulders, mouth pressed into an impassive line. The Black Widow. His original target out there on the bridge.

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” she said conversationally. As if the Asset wasn’t bound to a cold metal table, tac mask still thankfully strapped over his face.

“I didn't bring myself here.”

A small smile quirked up the corner of her lips, and the Asset knew she was aware of that fact already.

It was easy to figure that she had been the one to bring him in here. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that she was capable of keeping him incapacitated long enough to move him from one place to another without him even stirring.

“What are you doing here? We didn't pull a lot of weapons off you; I’m sure you don’t think you’re going to be able to finish what you started. So what’s your plan?” Her words and tone were light, but there was no ignoring the steel in her hazel-green eyes.

'We'. There was more than one person who had brought him here. Memories of the men she had been with, a black man with wings and the blond he’d fished from the wreckage. One, if not both of them, were likely there with her, just in hiding.

He tried to shrug, tearing his gaze away from her and focusing on the ceiling above him instead. The fluorescents hurt his eyes. “I don’t have one. I haven’t seen anyone from HYDRA since being sent on Project Insight.”

That seemed to catch her by surprise, since she didn't immediately respond, or insist that of course he had a plan or that someone had given him one. Maybe she could tell he was being honest.

“Well, you’re going to have to stay here until your heat is over. We’ll just have to figure out what to do with you after that.” She turned on her heel, and there was something almost stiff in her walk that made him wary.

It wasn’t until the door closed and the lights dimmed that her words hit him. Heat. He was going into heat, and that’s why he had been so sick.

He was an Omega.

Realistically, it probably shouldn’t have caught the Asset by surprise as much as it did. A week’s worth of sickness, but only after a week of being away from HYDRA. Of being off whatever they fed into his veins every day he was awake.

Suppressants, he realized belatedly.

While he had no recollection of what it was like to go through heat, he knew that it was going to be painful, especially if he was to be left here, unable to move.

It would be a new type of torture, and maybe that was what the smug tilt of her lips had been about. She was well aware that this would be the outcome of bringing him inside.

Somehow, he didn't feel anything even related to hatred at the realization. Just resignation that even if HYDRA hadn’t found him, he still was subject to the same sort of thing. It would just be at the hands of a new group.

* * *

From the other side of the glass, Clint watched, arms folded tightly over his chest as Natasha came to join him.

“You left his mask on,” he said instead of a greeting. He didn't like this plan at all. Hadn’t liked it from the start, but Stark wasn’t here to back him up, and Natasha had pointedly not informed Steve or Banner that they had company.

It was going to be a shit-show when they found out, and Clint did not want to be around when it happened.

He could practically hear her shrug, sidling up next to him to keep an eye on the man. The Winter Soldier.

“I already know what he looks like underneath it. If he wants to wear it to feel safe, that’s fine with me.”

Clint grumbled a bit under his breath, turning away. He didn't want to watch this, but someone needed to keep an eye on him in case he got sick and someone needed to call a doctor. Or Banner, more likely.

As if she could sense his rising ire, she brushed her wrist against his forearm, marking him with her scent to try and soothe him. “This is just until the withdrawals are over. And if it starts to look like something is going wrong, we’ll get help.” She paused, wetting her lips. “You can’t tell me you would have left him on the streets, Clint. And you know as well as I do that it’s this, a hospital that can’t contain him, or the government.”

She had a point, but he still hated it. The Winter Soldier was enhanced, supposedly never aging, and he would wreak havoc if he was put in a normal hospital. “Leaving him in there on his own isn’t very humane, Nat.”

“He shot my other best friend. That wasn’t particularly humane either.”

It was a grudge, then. At least in part. It shouldn’t have really surprised him, after knowing her as long as he had. That was probably  _ also _ why she’d lied to him about what was going on. Sometimes just anticipating being in heat was a hell all on its own.

They didn't have medicine strong enough for an enhanced Omega, so that wasn’t an option either. And he wasn’t experiencing a real heat, so they definitely couldn’t send an Alpha in there to help.

The problem with this particular line of work, he found, was that there weren’t usually good options.

“Cap’s going to be pissed when he finds out,” he warned.

“Of course he will be.” There was only a touch of regret in her voice, but that touch spoke volumes. She kept her heart closed off and her tone neutral, so even a bit of genuine emotion meant that there was a lot more of it beneath the surface. “But I don’t think he’d have any better ideas either, so let’s keep the moral ambiguity to ourselves. For his sake.”

She straightened up, motioning towards the door. “I’ll keep an eye on him and make sure to keep him hydrated. Go get some sleep, all right?”

It was the middle of the day and Clint was absolutely not going to be getting any sleep, but he still nodded stiffly and headed to the elevator. For  _ her  _ sake, he hoped that he wouldn’t run into anyone on the way up because he was terrible at keeping things to himself when they didn't sit right with him.

* * *

The Asset didn't know how much time passed. The lights had blessedly dimmed shortly after the Widow left, and had stayed dim for what felt like days. Occasionally she or a blond Omega would come in to change the bag of fluid that was being fed into his IV, but other than that he was largely left alone.

Captain America never came, and on the rare occasions where he could even think properly, he wondered if he was even in this building.

The fever raged on, the pain didn't seem to stop, and there was an uncomfortable  _ ache _ between his legs that he didn't know what to do with. And he couldn’t do anything about it if he wanted to, considering that he wasn’t let up any more than to use the restroom.

The experience wasn’t as horrifying to him as maybe it should have been.

He kept waiting for the manic lust to hit, or even for slick to start seeping through his clothes, but nothing seemed to happen. The Asset didn't know what to make of that, except consider that maybe he was just defective now.

And then he woke up and it was over. Or, it seemed to be, as best he could tell. It felt like his head was stuffed with cotton, and everything was still hazy at best. His skin was tacky with dried sweat, but the ache seemed to have shifted from his groin and ass to seemingly everywhere else. If he was asked to stand, he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be able to manage it.

When the door whirred open again, he was greeted by a scent he had come to recognize, and one that he didn't.

“Remind me why you two thought this was a good idea?” an unfamiliar man said, sounding mildly annoyed. The footsteps stopped. “I’m sorry, did you leave him like this the entire time?”

The footsteps quickened, and then there were hands on the straps, fiddling and fussing before Natalia stopped him. He looked rather small himself, with carefully styled dark hair and even darker eyes with a thick frame of lashes.

The Asset blinked a few times, brows furrowed. Still no sign of the Captain, then. That was disappointing.

“He’s dangerous,” she warned.

The man scoffed, irritation souring his scent. “I don’t think he’s even seeing us right now.”

He was wrong, but the Asset wasn’t about to correct him about that. The bonds seemed to have been loosened slightly, and the Asset pulled at them subtly. He could break them now, possibly. It wasn’t HYDRA he was with, and Natalia had been his target. Maybe if he corrected that particular failure, they would go easier on him for the other.

The Omega, though… There was a chance he could get out of this easier, since he seemed to take pity on the Asset. Pity that he didn't strictly need, but could exploit all the same. Minimize the casualties.

While he considered all this, the Omega continued rambling. “You didn't even take his mask of, for Christ’s sakes. Does Steve know about this? Because I can feel Steve’s kicked puppy look and I hate it.”

“He tried to kill Steve; I think he’ll be fine.”

There was a click of the tongue before the man lifted the Asset’s head to fiddle with the straps that looped around the back of his head. “Remind me not to get on your bad side. Even if it  _ was  _ just suppressant withdrawals, I’d rather you didn't strap me to a table to ride it out alone.”

The words ‘suppressant withdrawals’ struck a chord, but the Omega before him remained the focus of his attention. He’d consider that particular phrase later.

The mask lifted, and there was a very distinct pause, the man staring in abject horror before he turned his gaze to the ceiling, the heavy plastic clattering to the floor. “J, I’m going to need you to get Cap down here, like, ten minutes ago.”

The Asset’s brow furrowed. Why were they calling Captain America down here now? It seemed like he hadn’t been brought down earlier for a reason.

Not that he understood why, but he had never been required to understand why the higher ranks had done anything before.

Natalia sighed, grasping the other’s arm and hauling him back. “Why are you dragging Steve into this?”

“You mean aside from the fact that it’s apparently his  _ long dead best friend _ you strapped to a table? Jesus, he’s going to murder all of us.”

Something about that statement made the Asset run cold. Long dead best friend? He had never encountered Captain America before. HYDRA had framed him as a new threat; not someone he would have met or targeted before.

The Black Widow hovered over him, carefully brushing the hair off of the Asset’s forehead. Careful to keep her hand and arm out of range in case he tried to bite her.

Distantly, he remembered doing that when he’d been woken from cryo. He didn't know how she would know to be careful of that.

“I know who he is,” she said slowly, training her gaze firmly on the Asset’s. “If you want to deal with him being devastated, go ahead. But I think there’s a better way to handle this.”

There was a clear moment of indecision that hung over the entire room. The Asset licked his lips as he watched the two of them. Steven Grant Rogers was here after all. If he could actually finish that mission as well, maybe he could avoid punishment for this debacle all together.

“J, tell Cap that I changed my mind. I don’t want him anywhere near this room.”

“Very well, sir,” a disembodied voice rang out through the room.

It looked like there was pain written across the Omega’s face as he too peered down at the Asset. “If this goes badly, I’m throwing you under the bus,” he warned.

Natalia shrugged, fastening the mask back over the Asset’s face. “He won’t find out that we already knew. If he finds out on his own, we claim ignorance.”

“Did you swear Barton to secrecy too? Because he’s really shitty at keeping secrets.  _ I’m _ really shitty at keeping secrets.”

“Barton only knows that he’s here. And I’m only telling you because someone needs to look at that arm.”

The arm in question whirred, the plates clicking as they recalibrated. They weren’t bringing Steven Grant Rogers, then. But he was in the building, and if he could get out…

“Is there a problem with it?”

There was a hint of a frown, Natalia continuing to brush the Asset’s hair back. While the touch itself felt nice, he couldn’t help but feel like it was some sort of trap. “I don’t know. That’s what I want to find out.” She hesitated for a moment, finally releasing the strap across his shoulders. “I don’t think HYDRA would care if it was hurting him.”

There was a sharp sigh, the man rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. All right, I’ll see what I can do. Does Bruce know? Because I might need him for this.”

“It’s mechanical.”

“It’s attached to a person.”

She pulled a face, but did nod. “He can’t tell anyone else, though.”

He scoffed, footsteps receding towards the door. “I hate to tell you, Nat, but once he knows, there won’t be anyone to tell  _ but _ Steve.”

For her part, Natalia stayed where she was, slowly unfastening the Asset. While he thought it was a terrible move on her part, he couldn’t quite bring himself to attack or hurt her. He simply laid back, unsure if he could move even if he found the willpower to do so.


	2. Chapter 2

Something in the Tower was off.

Steve couldn’t quite tell what it was, because it wasn’t like anyone was overtly avoiding him but it still felt like no one was around. Clint was a little more skittish than usual, as was Tony, but the two of them had always been a little bit off, so it wasn’t that. If it got worse, maybe he’d think it was related to them, but it was within their normal limits of ‘odd’.

There was a misplaced scent, though. One that was achingly familiar that he could only catch occasionally, and it was just--

He knew it, was the problem. Recognized the almost salt-brine that tempered the sweet Omeganess of it, because he’d shared a cramped shoebox of an apartment with it for years. He’d shared even more cramped tents with it for years as well, and the person who carried it was long dead.

_ Bucky  _ was long dead.

Natasha carried it more often than the rest of them, it seemed, but he didn't want to question her about it. He didn't want to ask who everyone was seeing because while he knew, knew deep in his bones that Bucky was dead and that it couldn’t possibly be his scent he was catching, he didn't think he could stand to hear someone confirm that he was just imagining things.

The problem was, he couldn’t just continue to ignore whatever was going on, especially when he walked into Tony’s lab to find him and Bruce arguing over blueprints of an arm.

An arm that looked more familiar than it should, considering he’d only seen its owner once or twice before. He supposed that was just the eidetic memory kicking in, much like he’d memorized a map he saw once in his rush to get Bucky out of the factory in Azzano.

Both scientists stopped dead when the door closed behind Steve, dark eyes turning to focus on him. Tony looked absolutely terrified, blanching as he waved the blueprints away.

“Do either of you want to tell me what’s going on here?” Steve asked, making sure to employ the ‘Captain America is disappointed in you’ look that worked on Tony approximately half the time.

Tony didn't seem to be able to look away, looking distinctly like a deer in headlights. Bruce, however, composed himself more quickly. Without much more than a mumbled excuse and a ducked head, he made himself scarce in the recesses of the lab.

The good news was, it was a lot easier to get answers out of Tony than it was Bruce, so he more or less let the Beta scurry away.

“I found them in Natasha’s HYDRA dump?”

Steve intensified the disappointment, glancing pointedly between where the blueprints were and Tony’s face. “You’re hiding something from me. What is it?”

He could see Tony’s throat bob when he swallowed, though his shoulders slumped as he finally looked away first. “We may or may not have the Winter Soldier in custody.”

All thoughts of that unknown scent left his mind at that.

No wonder everything seemed off; they were harboring a well known HYDRA assassin. And apparently no one had thought to tell him, in spite of at least three members of the team knowing, since Natasha obviously had to be aware. Four, if Clint happened to be in on it too.

His gaze hardened, mouth setting into a firm line. “And no one said anything because…?”

Tony glanced back to where Bruce had left, probably wishing he’d done the same. When he looked back, there was something at least bordering on contrite. “He’s an Omega, Steve. We’ve been a little busy trying to get that under control.”

That brought a hot flush to his cheeks. It would make sense, then, that Natasha carried hints of him more often than the rest of them. She was the only other Alpha on the team, Thor notwithstanding.

Actually. Steve wasn’t entirely sure if they had secondary designations on Asgard. There was a chance that Thor didn't even  _ have _ one.

That wasn’t the point. The point was, almost the entire team had known, and Steve was left out of the loop.

The odd thing was, he distinctly remembered the Winter Soldier lacking a scent. No sharp tang of suppressants, just… nothing.

Steve swallowed thickly, averting his eyes in embarrassment. “What’s being done about him, then? After that’s over.”

There was definitely guilt curling in the air, but Tony brought up the blueprints again in spite of the fact that Steve couldn’t really make heads or tails of what it was he was looking at, aside from it obviously being the Soldier’s arm and the inner workings of it. “First, we see if it’s hurting him. Then... “ He shrugged a bit, a little helplessly. “I can make it weaker, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s about as enhanced as you are. We’d rather keep this between us until we know if he can be made safe or not. It would be easier to do that if he would actually  _ talk _ , but we’re working on it.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, looking over the schematics. So it was a rescue mission, then? While he was hesitant to suggest killing someone who wasn’t combative, surely the next step would be to have him imprisoned. “Let me have a go at him. Maybe he’ll talk to me.”

* * *

The room they moved the Asset to was markedly darker than the one with the table. It almost looked like a place someone would live, in spite of the lack of furniture. Generic carpet beneath his feet, food was brought regularly, and though there wasn’t a bed he had been provided with a fair number of blankets and pillows that he’d bundled up in the corner.

It seemed that, if HYDRA wasn’t going to get him, this new group of people were going to handle him in a similar way. Just with more isolation, fewer people sticking things into him and a surprising lack of punishments.

It seemed they only had two doctors among them. The Omega who had come in with Natalia once his withdrawals ran their course, and another dark haired man. A Beta who seemed more frustrated with the people around him than he did with the Asset himself.

The two mostly talked to each other, but the Omega--Tony, the other called him--would make a point to talk directly  _ to _ the Asset every time he came in. No direct questions, or anything he seemed to need an answer for, but he would talk.

He talked a lot, actually, but he never brought up the ‘long dead best friend’ thing about Captain America. The Asset was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined hearing it in his daze.

This time when Tony came into the room, he wasn’t followed by the Beta, or even the Black Widow.

He’d brought Captain America to the Asset.

He looked imposing even outside of uniform, and while he didn't currently have a handler, there was something in the Asset that insisted that this man, this one in particular, was one to be listened to. Even without the title, the Asset could tell he was the one in charge.

The Asset stood just to the left of the window, eyeing the two entering the room warily. Was this going to be another interrogation? Natalia had done the bulk of those, asking question after question, before leaving without offering any answers of her own.

There was a pause, the Captain’s nostrils flaring as his brow knit in confusion as he finally stepped into the room. “Thanks, Tony,” he said softly before closing the door behind him.

He hesitated a moment, glancing up at the ceiling. “JARVIS, can you turn the lights up 15%?”

“Of course, Captain,” that same disembodied voice said.

The Asset wasn’t entirely sure who it was up there, or if he was allowed to talk to ‘Jarvis’, but he was becoming familiar with his voice and mannerisms.

On top of talking to ‘Bruce’ and the Asset, Tony liked to talk to Jarvis a lot, mostly making politely framed demands or asking questions. Tony was the only one Jarvis called ‘sir’.

The lights in the room brightened, making the Asset squint a bit but he made sure to keep his eyes focused on the blond.

Steve Rogers slowly moved around the room, seeming to take in his surroundings even as the Asset matched him step for step. Trying to keep the same amount of distance between the two of them in spite of the fact that he hadn’t been asked to move.

He wasn’t being chastised for it, either.

“What’s your name?”

The Asset’s brow furrowed now. He didn't have a name. People didn't give names to weapons, didn't he know that? “Asset. Winter Soldier.”

There was a touch of annoyance in Steve’s mouth, and the Asset got a flash of a similar look on a much smaller man.

A much smaller man insisting that he ‘stop acting like such a mother hen, Christ’.

Moments like that were starting to come to him more frequently, and distantly he knew that was a sign he’d been unfrozen too long. That he needed to get in the chair, or in the cryo chamber.

“How did you get here?” the Captain prompted instead. In spite of the unsatisfactory answer, he didn't seem to be about to  _ do _ anything to the Asset for failing to answer properly.

That was a little odd. Punishments were usually rather swift, and he was well aware that Steve Rogers could move about as quickly as he could. Crossing the room would take a matter of seconds for him.

“I was brought in while I was unconscious. I have no memory of who brought me here or why.”

“You were unconscious?”

In the back of his mind, the Asset recognized that he should probably be working out how to kill Steve while they were alone in the same room. He didn't have a traditional weapon, but he’d made do with his bare hands before.

Something was stopping him, and he didn't know what that could possibly be. The memory of Tony calling him his ‘long dead best friend’ rang in his ears.

His gaze dropped, ashamed for some unknown reason. “I require some measure of sleep. Not much.”

Something about that seemed to cause a small amount of distress in the Alpha, and the Asset’s knees trembled in response, fighting off the urge to sink to the floor, as if that would somehow placate the man.

His expression didn't change, except for the tic in his jaw. The Captain’s brow was still furrowed the slightest bit, but his hands were loose by his side. It seemed like, regardless of anything else, this was to be a peaceful confrontation.

As peaceful as it could be when they had attempted to kill each other both times they had met previously, at least.

“Let me guess. You don’t know what it is you’re doing here either, then.”

The Asset shrugged his right shoulder, glancing over to the window. Maybe it would be a better idea to just try and escape, since his original idea didn't seem to be working. Maybe it would just be smarter to wait for HYDRA to find him outside instead of staying in here. Better the masters he knew.

The Captain let out a slow breath, rocking back onto his heels. “All right. Ok.”

* * *

When the door closed, it was all Steve could do to not collapse. He was a mess. Going in there had been a terrible idea, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he had been thinking when he’d decided to confront the Winter Soldier, or what he’d been hoping to get out of him.

What he  _ did _ get out of it was a lot of confusion, and even more conflicting emotions about it.

The Soldier was  _ HYDRA _ . He should be rotting away in a cell somewhere for his crimes, but Steve had seen a glimpse of a pitiful little nest tucked into a corner and it made him feel horrible.

Of course his next step was to see Natasha. He got the sense that if anyone on the team knew what was going on here, it was going to be her.

The problem was, there was something about the Winter Soldier that just… It didn't line up. He didn't immediately move to attack Steve, or rush to the door so it didn't seem like he was being trapped here. Tony hadn’t requested that the door be unlocked, and nothing in the Tower had manual locks.

There was something cold, almost mechanical in the way he answered, and the fact that he didn't seem to  _ have _ a lot of answers to begin with…

The Tower was vast, but JARVIS was helpful enough to inform him that Natasha was in the communal kitchen with Clint.

When he arrived on the floor, it looked like the two of them were bickering about some baking mixture or another, Clint contentedly perched on top of the counter while Natasha poked and prodded at what was in the bowl.

It was domestic. Endearingly so and Steve couldn’t help the pang in his heart, remembering when he’d had something similar. Before the serum, before the war, before everything.

Clint addressed him first, perking up a bit as he leaned back precariously to meet Steve’s eye. “Hey Cap, long time no see.”

“Is there a reason we have the Winter Soldier locked away in one of the upper floors?”

For what it was worth, Natasha didn't seem too shocked, unlike Clint whose smile visibly melted off his face.

“He’s not strictly locked in there. He just hasn’t tried to leave,” Natasha said evenly, shaking more white powder out of a measuring cup.

Unlike Bruce, Clint seemed like he was going to stay exactly where he was for this conversation. Steve wasn’t sure if that was admirable or not. “What is he doing here?”

“He was going through withdrawal when we found him,” Clint said, hands held up defensively. “It’s not like anyone went out of their way to look for him; Natasha found him in the alley next to the Tower.”

Something in Steve’s gut loosened, while something else tightened. He’d assumed that the Soldier had been going through heat, but withdrawals… That was almost worse. He’d seen Bucky go through it one time when they couldn’t afford both them  _ and _ medicine for Steve’s bout of pneumonia, and he often wished that they had gotten Bucky’s suppressants instead.

“That explains how he got here, but not why he’s still here. He’s a criminal, Nat; what is he doing sitting in a dark room?”

She sighed, leaning against the countertop. “He hasn’t left yet,” she repeated, a little slower as if that made it make any more sense.

It didn't. And Steve suspected half the reason he hadn’t left was because no one said he could.

When it became obvious that she was going to have to elaborate further, she rolled her eyes, nudging Clint gently to get him down so she could take his place. “If he was truly loyal to HYDRA, don’t you think he would have left by now? Or at least tried to hurt us? It’s not like he’s being left alone for long stretches of time.”

That… Steve hadn’t quite considered it that way. A grimace touched his lips, knowing that Natasha was both a good liar, but also the only one on the team who switched sides from a similar sort of group.

She was both not entirely trustworthy, but also the one who actually had personal experience in this matter, and it was a hard thing to consider.

“That doesn’t explain why he’s here and not in custody.”

The two of them shared a look that Steve couldn’t quite decipher before Clint spoke up. “There’s a chance that he’d be a good asset to the team, if he’s willing to switch sides.”

Regardless of anything else, Steve could practically hear the warning bells going off in his head at that. They wanted the Winter Soldier to fight with them. In spite of the fact that he’d been with HYDRA and had tried to kill them as well as help with a plan to wipe out tens of thousands of ‘randomly selected targets’ along with Alexander Pierce.

“In what universe does  _ that _ sound like a good idea?” he asked, trying to ignore the ice in his own voice. “You don’t even like it when Hulk comes out, and you want to trust this long time ghost story that actually  _ has _ attempted to kill us both?”

Natasha leveled him with an almost bored look, as if she wasn’t even surprised but still thought he was an idiot. “Obviously we would make sure that he isn’t a threat first, Steve. And besides, if it doesn’t work out, there’s more than enough people in this building alone to stop him before he could manage to get very far. Low risk, high reward.”

That feeling that he was missing something came back full force, but with even less reason than before. If they were actually hiding something, he could pick up on Clint’s tells more often than not. And all that Steve was reading from him was similar concern, but also the overwhelming trust he had for Natasha.

Clint wouldn’t go along with something if it had the potential to end in Natasha’s death. And, really, Steve didn't believe Natasha would actually try to put the team in harm’s way either.

In all honesty, it was probably just Steve being paranoid. It was just like the scent thing all over again. It didn't belong to Bucky. It was the Winter Soldier’s, and the match wasn’t even exact anyways. As much as he hated it, Steve could just chalk it all up to wishful thinking and maybe more than a small amount of homesickness.

It was hard to be homesick for a person who had died over half a century ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and thank you for reading (: I'm kind of blown away at the response the first chapter received, and I'm really grateful to everyone. I'm having an unreasonable amount of fun writing this, and I'm honestly kind of having a hard time not posting everything all at once.
> 
> As always, I appreciate you guys so much, and this is unbeta'd so all the mistakes are mine


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Natalia came into the room, her scent seemed softer than usual. More muted. It was something that most people probably wouldn’t notice, but the Asset liked to think he was fairly in tune with the finer details around him.

There was a pile of blankets in her arms that were set next to the Asset’s nest. Not in it or on it, but right next to it.

He got the sense that it was the respectful thing to do, but he had no memory of having anything close to a nest, so he couldn’t say for certain.

“I heard you met Steve,” she said conversationally, if a bit quietly.

That cocky tone she had used when he had first been strapped to the table hadn’t made very frequent reappearances in the number of times she had come up to see him. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, except that there was a good chance she was trying to lull him into a false sense of security before she and the others started showing their true colors.

It wasn’t quite a question, but he nodded once all the same. She didn't often demand verbal responses, which was nice in its own way. His last handler in particular wouldn’t allow anything other than spoken words.

She hummed lowly, smoothing her palms over the top of the small pile, letting her scent soak into them. It was almost definitely a possessive gesture, but he found he didn't mind it quite as much as maybe he should.

“He’s a good man. I think you’ll like him once you get the chance to know him better.” It seemed like her words were being chosen and spoken carefully, though she made a point not to watch him react directly.

The Asset had no doubt that he was being watched in her periphery, but she put on a show of simply puttering around the room that the Asset was inhabiting. Checking the fridge, the cabinets, the windows… Acting as if the Asset wasn’t a threat to her.

He was aware that she wasn’t naive enough to really think that, so he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the display.

“Why am I here?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time since he had been here. And given by the steady rise and fall of the sun, it had been eight days since he was brought to this room. It was probable he’d been in this building for closer to two weeks, but he wasn’t sure about that and it wasn’t as pressing as his other questions.

Finally, her hazel green eyes focused on him, appraising but not cold. “What do you know about HYDRA?” she asked in turn.

His brow furrowed, standing stock-still in the easily defensible corner he tended to keep to. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“I mean do you think they were doing good for the world.”

“Of course.” What sort of question was that? He wouldn’t be doing what they asked if he thought they were trying to hurt everyone.

However, a few people had to hurt or die for the good of the rest of the world. It was an unfortunate truth, and he’d been the one to carry out that particular line of work.

There wasn’t any change in her expression as her fingers trailed over glasses that he had yet to touch himself. “I think you should consider that question a little more. Like what good  _ have _ they done rather than what they’ve simply talked about doing. And maybe about who they were doing good  _ for _ .”

None of that really made a lot of sense to the Asset. His brows pulled together as he watched her keep up the nonchalant facade. It was to be for the good of everyone. That was the point.

But she wasn’t pushing for answers, it seemed. Just asking questions that the Asset didn't know how to process, because they weren’t simple yes or no answers. She wasn’t asking him to recount events.

Her visit continued much in the same vein as they usually did. She would talk, busy herself in the room, give him something to eat, and eventually leave. Undoubtedly to return only a few hours later to do the whole thing all over again until night fell.

The problem being, this time her earlier questions lingered much longer than the later ones did. That, and her statement about Captain Rogers.

‘He’s a good man’.

If nothing else, the Asset understood there was a very real chance that he was going to be paired up with the Captain for one thing or another. The Asset didn't like how enthralled he felt just by being in his presence. It reminded him too much of Pierce in the early days, and he knew very well how good tempers like that could change in an instant.

At least this time she had left him with something useful. A blister pack of pills that she said would help if he started to feel sick again. And if he thought she was lying, she said, then he could simply ask JARVIS.

So apparently, he was indeed allowed to talk to JARVIS, in spite of the fact that the Asset couldn’t see him, and didn't know who he even was.

He still stashed the pills away, even after JARVIS confirmed that there was nothing poisonous in them. He wasn’t sure if he trusted them not to lie to him.

* * *

It turned out that JARVIS was an AI. Just A Rather Very Intelligent System who more or less ran the building.

The Asset had taken to talking to him when no one else was around, which wasn’t as often as he’d imagined. It seemed like the same three people were coming in and out on a fairly regular basis.

Tony would open up his arm and talk when he was there. Bruce would accompany him often, but never came in on his own. Natalia often came in simply to ask questions, and would rarely come in with either of the other two.

Steven Rogers had yet to return, and while Natalia often carried a wood-smoke Omega scent he was pretty sure belonged to the blond who would occasionally check in during his withdrawals, that particular Omega had never come into the room.

“JARVIS, am I allowed to leave?” he asked one day, before the sun had even started to rise. The blankets Natalia had brought in several days ago surrounded him, though he was sure he hadn’t managed to sleep for more than an hour or two.

It was still unfamiliar territory, and HYDRA didn't tend to let him sleep for long. The idea of even being allowed to sleep for so long was foreign to him.

The AI didn't pause, didn't seem to hesitate. Though, the Asset supposed that computer systems didn't need to hesitate.

“Sir has not forbidden you from leaving, though it is my understanding that it is preferred you stay inside the Tower for the time being.”

There was a difference between ‘not forbidden’ and ‘allowed’. Or it seemed like there was, though his handlers had never been ones to allow for ambiguity when it came to him. There were things that were allowed, and the rest was forbidden. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the grey area.

Granted, he also wasn’t sure who was supposed to be in charge of him either. There wasn’t a clear chain of command, since all three of his usual visitors seemed to have completely different motives for being there.

The only clear order he had been given had come from Natalia, who insist that he wear the mask unless it was only herself or Tony in the room. No exceptions.

He didn't know why. It wasn’t as if anyone else was coming into the room aside from Bruce.

But if he wasn’t restricted to this room…

The Asset double checked that the mask was secure before trying the door. It wasn’t locked, and that surprised him more than it reasonably should have.

While he never heard a lock click into place when someone left, he knew that electronic locks existed and that JARVIS could have reasonably been keeping him trapped in here and he wouldn’t have heard those locks close.

It was strange to consider that he’d stayed alone in a room for this long and had never attempted to escape in spite of the fact that he considered it more than once. The recent question of if HYDRA was doing the right thing had kept him still longer than he cared to admit, and he was loathe to simply go back to them and seek them out.

In spite of him believing in them, he didn't want the pain they tended to inflict on him. That might make him selfish. He wasn’t sure if he cared.

The door opened quietly, and he was struck with the realization that he didn't know where to even go from here. All he had seen of the building was the white room, the elevator, and the hallway that led to the room he was currently inhabiting.

Maybe that was why Tony didn't care if he stayed in the room or not. The Asset wouldn’t even know where to go if he left.

He stood in front of the elevator for longer than he could even defend, knowing that he could access it but having no idea where it would take him.

“Might I suggest the communal floor, Sergeant?” JARVIS asked, though the elevator doors stayed firmly shut.

It sounded like a terrible idea. There would likely be people there, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he had even wanted to leave the room to begin with when conceivably everything he would need was already in there.

He also wasn’t sure why JARVIS decided to refer to him as ‘Sergeant’, but he supposed that maybe he, like Tony, had the habit of giving people nicknames. After all, Tony had been the one to create the AI. Maybe he liked to give his creations quirks.

Still, in spite of all that, he found himself nodding jerkily. It might be a trap. It was most likely some kind of trap that he couldn’t see yet, but at the same time, he didn't want to be in that room forever, and no one seemed interested in bringing him to the rest of the Tower. If Tony’s AI was going to suggest the communal floor, then he supposed that was where he would start.

The elevator was strangely quiet as it descended. If he’d noticed that the first time he’d been in it, it had completely slipped his mind between then and now.

He got the sense that he’d gone down several dozen floors before stopping, the doors sliding open just as quietly as they’d closed.

“Sir is currently in the lab, and no one else has awoken yet,” JARVIS said as the Asset stepped onto the floor. “However, Captain Rogers typically is in the communal area by six, and will likely be up shortly.”

The Asset was fairly certain that Tony had been in his room until close to midnight. Did he not sleep much? It seemed unusual that no one would be taking care of an Omega on a team like this.

Though he was apparently an Omega as well and HYDRA hadn’t particularly coddled him, so he wasn’t entirely sure why something like that would occur to him.

Down here, there didn't seem to be much for him to do either. There were several screens at varying points, along with plush couches and a kitchen area that seemed a bit too large if there were only six people in this building.

The entire building seemed too large to only have six people in it, however there was the very real possibility that there were more and he’d only met or scented a small section of them.

HYDRA had been organized like that, he was pretty sure. A small group of people who he worked directly for, and then the larger picture that he never saw. It made it harder for him to ascertain the grand scheme of what they were doing and why.

Gingerly, he settled himself onto one of the couches, tucked into the corner as well as he could while he waited.

It would be easier if he knew what he was waiting for.

Hours seemed to tick by, and the Asset almost started to drift off when someone else came into the room. The Captain, if he was remembering the scent right. Something reminiscent of steel and concrete after a storm. Very different than the sharp, almost cold scent that Natalia carried.

The pause was palpable, though the Asset didn't even lift his head from the arm of the couch as he waited for the other to break it first.

The footsteps didn't seem to come towards him, and he was pretty sure that the Alpha was heading towards the kitchen area. “JARVIS, has Tony been up all night?” he asked, ceramic clinking.

“Sir has been awake for approximately 29 hours.”

Steve sighed, a sort of fond exasperation in the breath that made something coil uncomfortably in the Asset’s chest.

“Any signs of him slowing down, or is it time to herd him to bed?”

There was running water for a moment, and vaguely he wondered if Steve was going to make coffee.

More specifically, he wondered if Steve was going to make horribly burned, bitter coffee, but that wasn’t a thought he could place either.

It probably would have been safer up in his room. At least then the only out of place things that occurred to him were at Natalia’s gentle prompting, instead of seemingly out of nowhere like this.

“Sir has asked to only be disturbed if it is a life threatening emergency. As it stands, Dr. Banner will likely be joining him within the hour.”

Somehow, hearing that comforted the Asset slightly. The two seemed to get along well, and there was a sort of care that Bruce showed Tony that made him think it was probable that he could get the other man to rest. He’d seen a lot of fussing between the two of them.

“Well, I guess that’ll work,” Steve muttered, too low for most people to hear.

It was several minutes before he heard the other approach, the smell of coffee becoming stronger as well.

There wasn’t quite surprise in those blue eyes once he was finally in front of the Asset, but there was something he couldn’t place.

Gently, Steve placed one of the two mugs on the table in front of the Asset before backing off towards one of the chairs instead. “I’m not used to being the second one up,” he said, a rueful smile on his lips.

They looked soft. The Asset was pretty sure nothing on him was soft anymore.

He glanced towards the mug, remembering Natalia’s sole order to ‘keep the mask on’. As much as he’d like to, he couldn’t drink it and find out if it was as bitter as he suspected it would be.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he explained, keeping his voice soft.

Steve nodded, long legs draping over the arm of the chair with his own mug cradled to his chest.

He looked ridiculously awake given how early it really was.

“They let you out of the room, then.” His thumb traced over the rim of the mug, though he made no move to raise it to his lips.

The Asset wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that, since he hadn’t technically been told he could leave. “I don’t know if the door was ever locked.”

For some reason, that didn't seem to strike the Alpha as odd. Or, if it did, he was good at hiding it.

It shouldn’t have been as unnerving as it was. The Asset was used to not knowing what his superiors knew, and he got the sense that Captain was meant to be his superior. Not, likely, outranking Natalia, but he was fairly certain that a Captain would outrank a doctor like Bruce and… whatever it was that Tony was.

“You decided to test it out then,” Steve said.

That was accurate enough, and the Asset dipped his head in agreement. Granted, he still wasn’t entirely sure why, or what even to do with the information that he was free to wander about the building since there still was ambiguity over what he was doing here to begin with. Or why he wasn’t trying to fulfill his missions or escape back to HYDRA.

“Natalia asks a lot of questions that don’t seem to have answers,” the Asset said carefully. “I don’t… HYDRA didn't want me to remember much, so I’m not entirely sure who they were changing the world for but she… She insisted that I think about it.”

There was a thoughtful silence, Steve finally drinking some of his coffee and thankfully not commenting on the fact that the Asset hadn’t touched his. “I think a lot of people just assume that everyone’s world view on things like that matches. But the thing about war is, people on the opposing side wouldn’t be fighting if they didn't think they were right. It doesn’t automatically  _ make _ them right, but no one thinks they’re on the wrong side of history until it’s been written.”

Apparently Steve was going to do the same sort of thing that Natalia did, and that unsettled something in the Asset. It frustrated him.

“Sure, but what exactly am I supposed to do with that?” he asked, more a complaint than anything he would have dared try with HYDRA.

Fear rushed through him as soon as he heard himself, cold and sharp in his stomach as he tried not to look directly at Steve. There hadn’t been any punishments yet, aside from the time he spent strapped to a table. Food was never withheld, sleep was never disrupted…

However, all it seemed to do was bring a slightly amused tilt to Steve’s mouth, in spite of the fact that he looked like he didn't  _ want _ to be amused by the Asset. “They’re not even telling me what it is they’re trying to do right now. Your guess is probably better than mine is.”

The Asset frowned, unsure what he was supposed to make of that. Captain America didn't know what he was even supposed to be doing? He was fairly certain the man was supposed to be in charge of the team, in spite of not being charge of whatever project the Asset was part of.

Steve seemed to be able to read the confusion, given the half shrug he offered before speaking again. “They’re trying to help you. And eventually they want to see about integrating you into our team, but that’s all I know.”

That made sense, he supposed. They wanted him to be an asset for them instead of HYDRA. It also explained why they were trying to urge him to consider HYDRA’s motives and results.

The part that still puzzled him was that it didn't seem like they were going to force him to. It was all gentle prodding, and no one had mentioned anything about the Asset fighting for them before this.

It was possible, however, they were waiting until he was properly ‘rehabilitated’ to the point where Tony wasn’t checking up on his arm multiple times every day. Not that he really knew what the man was  _ doing _ with his arm, because by all accounts it seemed to be behaving normally.

The arm whirred softly once the Asset started considering it, as if reminding him of its presence.

At the sound, Steve looked over at the arm, brow furrowed in a way that looked almost painfully familiar.

He should leave. Go back to the safety of his room and maybe ask Natalia about it when she came to see him.

Regardless of those thoughts that buzzed around like angry hornets, the Asset found himself unable to will himself up. Some part of him insisted on remaining curled up against the arm of the couch, close enough to Steve that he could easily catch his scent but far enough that they couldn’t touch.

It seemed that Steve had different thoughts, however. Only a few minutes seemed to pass before he was back on his feet, leaving the Asset’s coffee where it was as he walked back towards the kitchen area.

“You should know I don’t particularly like this plan. But I also know that Natasha came in under similar circumstances so I’m not going to try and push her away from this project of hers either. You’re safe here.”

The footsteps receded, and he was fairly sure he heard the elevator close before the Asset could think of anything to say to that.

He retreated up to his own room shortly after, the cold coffee mug cradled carefully between both of his hands. Whether it was allowed or not, he felt an impulse to see if it was as terrible as he thought it might be when he first heard Steve brewing it.

* * *

Several hours passed before anyone came up to the Asset’s room. The coffee had proved awful, but he made himself drink the entire cup regardless. The mug was now soaking in the sink he hadn’t dared touch before.

Natalia didn't knock before she entered, but the Asset didn't expect her to. She never had before.

She brought nothing in with her this time, but she seemed to know that he had left the room without him having said anything. Likely, either JARVIS or Steve tipped her off.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to figure out we weren’t trapping you in here. You didn't take as long as I thought you would.”

There was an odd sense of pride in her words and he wondered, if he ended up working under them, if they expected him to be able to operate independently, without direct orders.

Which seemed like an odd way to run a team, in his opinion. There was a lot of room for error that way.

“It would be more helpful if I knew what was expected of me.” Snark hadn’t gotten any sort of ill response from Steve, and there was some possibly masochistic side of him that wondered if it would garner anything from Natalia.

Her teeth flashed dangerously in a smile as she leaned against the counter, barely sparing a glance to the mug in the sink. “Does the phrase ‘Red Room’ sound familiar to you at all?”

The words never crossed his mind before then, but as soon as she said them, pain shot through his head, sharp and bright, making it hard for him to stay standing.

Memories of cold, of a dark little building with stoic little girls in a perfect line. Repeating orders to them that had been given to him.

Natalia’s eyes softened a bit, and she pushed herself off the counter to walk towards him. “There you are, Djenya,” she said lowly. While she didn't get too close to his space, she was definitely skirting the edges of it.

That name felt familiar, too, in a way that he couldn’t quite place. It felt old, but supposedly he was old as well. There was a knot in his throat that was difficult to swallow around, but he stayed motionless all the same. He let her approach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you everyone for reading <3 I greatly appreciate everyone who's subscribing, leaving kudos, comments, etc. I really enjoy creating something that people enjoy  
> Special note: I know a lot of people opt to use Yasha for Red Room Bucky, but after doing a little reading I opted to use Djenya instead  
> Also, sorry for anyone who got the chapter update email twice. I had some formatting issues which just led to me deleting the whole thing and redoing it


	4. Chapter 4

Tony’s punching bags didn't break anymore. It had only taken two years for him to engineer something strong enough for Steve and there was a certain disappointment that came from that, it in spite of the fact that Tony was certainly smug about it.

Steve was pretty sure that Tony was smug over everything of his that worked. Howard had been like that too, but he knew Tony wouldn’t appreciate him saying as much.

But the strength of the bags didn't stop Steve from trying to break them out of frustration. The fact that they  _ wouldn’t _ break just added to it, festering under his skin until it was hard to so much as breathe.

The kicker was that Steve wasn’t entirely sure what was getting on his nerves to begin with.

It wasn’t seeing the Winter Soldier, per se. They had only interacted for maybe thirty minutes total, and he had meant what he said about no one thinking they were on the wrong side of history while they were on it. It was just--

There was something about the way he remained motionless, curled up in the tightest space possible, that got to him. It reminded him of when he’d first gotten the serum, when they shipped him off to be a dancing monkey, and he’d done something similar. Steve had tried to take up as little room as he could in the hopes of not getting in anyone’s way.

Combine that with the faint ocean-tinge to the Soldier’s scent, and Steve found himself feeling almost weak in response.

Normally that wouldn’t be a problem. It became a problem when he remembered who the man was, what he’d done. He’d been a ruthless killer for HYDRA, and even if he was considering that maybe he’d been in the wrong, it didn't erase what he had done.

Though, considering that most everyone on the team had done similarly awful things at one point or another, Steve was pretty sure he was being a bit of a hypocrite about the whole thing. He was holding some sort of grudge against him that was only forgotten when the Soldier was directly in front of him.

The steady thump of his fists hitting the bag nearly drowned out Clint’s arrival, only his muttered ‘fuck’ catching Steve’s attention.

He stopped, catching the bag before turning his attention to the new arrival. “Something wrong?”

Clint waved him off, taking a step back. “I was just trying to find Tasha. She’s been kinda scarce lately, you know?”

Steve nodded, though he usually thought Natasha was fairly scarce. She didn't often inform others of her comings and goings, but Clint… Well, if Clint was having a hard time finding her, then that was another thing altogether.

“I’m sure she has her reasons.”

There was a sourness to Clint’s expression, almost glaring at the wall over Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, sure. I’ll still be glad when this Winter Soldier thing is over. If she’s not here, I’m almost positive that she’s up with him.”

Honestly, Steve shouldn’t have felt as shocked by that as he did. Of course she was spending time up there. She’s the one who would be able to best relate to him.

But that wasn’t important right now. What was important was that one of his teammates was bitter about being left behind, even if he wasn’t really being left behind.

It was a feeling Steve was all to familiar with. Something that had nearly choked him when Bucky had been drafted and taken away to a war where Steve didn't think he could follow him.

“Do you want me to kick your ass at Mario Party until she’s done?” he asked, already starting to unwrap his hands.

They were definitely bruised, but nothing that wouldn’t be healed in an hour or two. He’d never quite mastered wrapping his hands properly.

Clint’s eyes narrowed, but Steve was pretty sure it had been the right thing to say anyway. “If you think I’m going to lose to a nearly-hundred year old man, you’ve got another thing coming.”

A small smile tugged at his lips even as he shrugged casually. “Youths these days don’t know how to respect their elders. Aren’t you supposed to take it easy on me? I’m appalled over how your generation acts.”

“You’re the worst. The absolute worst.”

The grumbling didn't stop even as they booted up the game system, and got progressively louder when Steve managed to snag almost every single star. The fact that Clint was bafflingly terrible at video games never ceased to amaze him.

In spite of that, the bitterness seemed to leave Clint pretty quickly as he hunched over his controller.

It was catharsis for both of them, though mostly for Clint in spite of his complaining. Natasha was at least temporarily forgotten, and Steve let himself focus on something other than the Winter Soldier who was apparently allowed free reign of the Tower like the rest of them.

Later, probably, it would come back to bother him. For now, though, he just tried to pay attention to beating Clint, and then Bruce when he came to join them as well.

While it wasn’t  _ quite _ team building like Tony liked to try and do, it was pretty close all the same. And it was nice to have a group of people like this again, even if they weren’t the same as the Howlies had been.

* * *

It took another several days before Steve saw the Winter Soldier again. The sun wasn’t quite up yet but there he was, curled up on the same couch as last time, though he wasn’t balled up as tightly as he had been before.

Something about it made him look young, almost childlike, and maybe that was why he had such a hard time holding onto his convictions that having him here was a bad idea when they were physically in the same room.

Steve couldn’t quite reconcile the murderer with the quiet, seemingly lost man in front of him, in spite of the unforgiving mask that he never seemed to take off.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Steve asked, easing himself into a chair across from the man after retrieving his coffee. While he generally would prefer the couch himself, he wasn’t about to try and encroach on an unfamiliar Omega’s space.

He got the same half-nod as he did last time. “I don’t, usually.”

His heart seized up for a moment at how resigned he sounded. The hint of gravel that made him think of the soldiers he’d served with during the war.

Absently, he wondered if this soldier had shell-shock just like the ones he’d known prior. Natasha would know, but he didn't feel right asking her something that personal.

Steve hadn’t bother bringing a second mug of coffee with him, considering that it had been completely untouched last time. But he still cradled his own close to his chest as he debated whether or not he should put something on TV, if only to fill the silence.

In the end, the Winter Soldier was the one to speak first, to offer something up. “They used to call me Djenya.”

Steve paused, mug halfway to his mouth. Now he wondered if there was more to Natasha’s knowledge of the Winter Soldier than the dismissive ‘he’s a ghost story that nearly killed me’ that she had offered them before.

Granted, he didn't know much about Natasha’s past aside from the basics either. They understood each other, but that didn't mean they knew each other all that well.

“Is that your name, then?” Steve asked, belatedly. It almost felt like too much time had passed, that it was awkward now to ask that.

Djenya tightened up a little bit, the plates of his arm shifting as he started to cram himself more into the corner. “I’m assuming yes. My memory isn’t… I don’t know if there’s a last name to go with it, but it’s what I’ve got right now.”

Hearing that almost felt like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about why he only offered Steve code names before. He just assumed it was part of what he’d been trained to do in case he was captured; not that he didn't even know what his name was to begin with.

And if he’d been stripped of his name, who knew what else he’d been made to forget over the years? Could he be counted as guilty if he had no idea he’d committed any crimes? If he’d been forced to? Bruce wasn’t directly held accountable for what the Hulk did, was he?

The clinking of the plates grew louder, snapping Steve out of that train of thought. Later. He’d deal with that particular moral crisis later. “Djenya, then.” The foreign name felt a little clumsy on his tongue. “It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

At least now the arm went still, but Steve wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the furrow between his brows. It would be a lot easier to read the Soldier--to read Djenya--if Steve could actually see the bottom half of his face.

“It was easier, before. But I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

Steve tried to bite back a rueful smile at that. “Yeah. I know how that goes.”

Grey-blue eyes turned intently towards him, and Steve froze. He’d never really looked at Djenya before, but there was something about that gaze that made him feel like he needed to leave immediately before he did something senseless.

It was hard to remind himself that it wasn’t Bucky. That more than one person surely had those storm colored eyes and it was just more wishful thinking on his part.

Though, he was pretty sure he wasn’t doing a very good job of convincing himself that, and Steve’s chest ached in a way it hadn’t in years. His fingers itched to unfasten the mask himself just to be sure.

He cleared his throat, setting his half-full coffee on the table as he stood. “I’ve gotta--I’m meeting up with someone in a bit,” he said, almost able to hear how false it sounded with his own ears. “But if you ever want to talk, just let me know? JARVIS keeps tabs on where everyone in the Tower is, so. You can ask him where I am, if you need me.”

Steve wouldn’t say he bolted out of the room. But he was pretty sure he wasn’t subtle about his haste to get out of there, and that was embarrassing in its own right.

* * *

“So let me get this straight.”

Steve was already regretting getting breakfast with Sam, but he was at a loss as to what else to do and Sam was the closest thing to a normal friend he had.

His shoulders were up around his ears and he studiously looked at the plastic covered menu so he didn't have to see the disparaging look he was so sure Sam was shooting him.

“They brought in the Winter Soldier without telling you, the government, or anyone else, and now you’re sitting here feeling bad for him, regardless of the fact that he tried to kill you, me, and a good chunk of the world’s population about a month ago.”

Steve shuffled a bit in his seat, feeling like he was a child about to be lectured by one of the Sisters. “He didn't even know his  _ name _ , Sam. Hell, he’s still not sure if he knows his name.”

Sam sighed heavily, and Steve could hear the creak of the chair leaning back. “I still don’t like it. But I get the feeling that’s not the part you’re here to talk to me about.”

Sometimes Steve wished he had less perceptive friends. “It’s a bad thing for me to look at him and see someone else?”

If nothing else, the question caught Sam off guard. The chair legs hit the floor with a muffled ‘thump’, and Steve’s eye automatically went to him. “If this ends with you trying to hit on the Winter Soldier--”

“Djenya,” Steve interrupted. “He thinks his name is Djenya.”

“My point stands, I might seriously question your sanity if you end up all starry-eyed over him after he tried to murder us.”

In spite of the fact that Steve was pretty sure he hadn’t admitted to anything like that, he winced a bit, curling further in on himself. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Am I wrong? Because I’m pretty sure I’m not wrong here.”

Steve let out a slow breath, grateful for the waiter’s interruption to get their order. Grateful that his gaze lingered on Sam long enough for Steve to reasonably tease him about it and get the conversation off of him.

Judging by the firm set of Sam’s mouth though, he wasn’t going to get away with that quite yet.

“Look, man. I get that you’re trying to do the ‘see all sides’ thing here. Maybe you’re right. But what I’m hearing is that all he knows is HYDRA, and even if the rest was brainwashed out of him, that doesn’t make it good. In fact, that still looks pretty damn bad, because then that means he’ll have to relearn everything else.”

Steve didn't speak for a moment, fiddling with the wrapper of his straw and tearing it into pieces. “He has the same kind of scent Bucky did,” he said quietly.

Whatever Sam was expecting, it didn't seem to be that. There was some kind of shock in his eyes, but also a sort of understanding there as well. “Is it…?”

He shook his head, eyes dropping back to the tabletop. “He’s been dead longer than I was, Sam. I know that it’s not him.” He forced a small smile, making himself look up at Sam. “Bucky would never be caught dead with hair that long. Brainwashed or not.”

The shitty attempt at humor at least somewhat worked, given the dramatic eye roll and soft huff it dragged out of Sam.

“Just keep that in mind, then. Because regardless of my feelings on the matter, it’s not fair to anyone if you go around treating this guy like Bucky when he’s not, and doesn’t even know who he is.”

It stung, but there was a reason he’d come to Sam about this. Aside from the fact that he was the only person who would reasonably be awake at this hour aside from Tony, who would definitely not be very helpful here.

The rest of breakfast passed uneventfully, though Steve could tell that Sam was going to be trying to keep tabs on him a little more closely now. At least for another couple of weeks, and that his proddings for Steve to see a counselor that  _ wasn’t _ him would become more frequent during that period of time.

* * *

Tony didn't actually want to meddle with this too much. He hadn’t ever been brainwashed, and while he’d been captured before he was pretty sure that it was nothing like what James Buchanan Barnes had endured. It wasn’t strictly his place to question what it was Natasha was doing with him.

Except now he was pretty sure problems were arising, and while he was definitely not about to bring Steve in on this, he wasn’t going to sit around and let his unease stew.

“Is there a reason he’s calling himself ‘Djenya’?” he asked, not even bothering to announce his entry into Natasha’s room.

Was it rude? Yeah. Might it get him killed? Possibly. But now wasn’t really the time for him to be worrying over his own mortality. He’d lived this long, after all.

Natasha didn't even look up from her nails, which she was in the middle of painting dark red. “He needs a name. And if I told him his name was James, when that got relayed to Steve it would create a lot of problems.” She hesitated, capping the bottle of nail polish to disguise it. “I called him that in the Red Room. It’s not strictly a lie.”

Tony was pretty sure he was too tired and too old for this. He was  _ definitely _ too sober for this, but he hated that sad, understanding look Bruce got when he’d caught Tony drinking. “Ok, if this is going to result in some convoluted love triangle between you, Cap, and whatever we’re calling him, I’m just going to cut my losses and tell him now.”

Her eyes flashed as they turned to Tony, and he almost lost his nerve there and then. They seemed to go dim just as quickly, thankfully, as she started waving her hand to dry the polish faster. “That’s not what I’m doing. I know it looks bad, but can you imagine the kind of pressure Steve would inadvertently put on him if he knew?”

Tony grimaced, hating how reasonable that sounded. Barnes, or Djenya, or whatever, wasn’t even able to hold a normal conversation most of the time. And he loved Cap, in his own weird way, but there was definitely an intensity about him that he was pretty sure wouldn’t do the poor guy any good.

“And the reason you didn't go with a normal, American name was…?”

“Plausible deniability.”

That sounded worrying. Tony wondered, not for the first time, how far ahead she had planned this. Sure, he believed that she hadn’t been out looking for him to bring him here. But she seemed to have a pretty well thought out path for all of this. An answer for everything.

When Tony didn't speak, she dipped her head in a semblance of acquiescence before standing up, storing the bottle in a drawer. “I know Steve will find out one day. But how was I supposed to know Djenya, who trained me and countless others in the Red Room, is the same man he grew up with?”

It sounded ridiculous to Tony. But he suspected that was because he knew the truth of the matter.

He shouldn’t advocate lying to Steve, and probably should have put a stop to this long before, but Tony would admit to being at a bit of a loss here.

And it would be hypocritical of him to lecture her for hiding something big and life-altering. She’d already seen him do that to Pepper before the Avengers were even a thing, and he didn't want to play that particular game of one-upmanship.

“So as far as we all know, Barnes is Djenya, and no one here recognized him as Steve’s best friend.”

“The only people who would reasonably recognize him as that are you and me. But I don’t think Steve knows how much you looked up to him and the Howling Commandos as a kid, and if he thinks I just remember him from the Red Room, I don’t think he would even question it.”

Tony  _ absolutely  _ hated it, but he was reasonably certain that it would keep them all out of hot water. He was pretty sure, after all, that he and Natasha were the only people who had seen Barnes unmasked, and Tony sure as hell hadn’t brought Bruce in on the loop.

Bruce would probably  _ also _ kill him, but for entirely different reasons than Steve would.

It was a blessing, sort of, that no one had brought up his mistake in how he'd practically spilled the beans before any of this even kicked into motion. He was pretty sure he'd been right about how Barnes hadn't heard him say 'Steve's long dead best friend', since he hadn't asked about it. And it didn't look like Natasha had planned out contingencies for that, so he was chalking it up to a non-issue

He shifted a little uncomfortably, edging back towards the door. “I think I’m about done getting the bugs out of the arm. It’s still probably too heavy, but I’m going to see about building him a new one altogether to see if that helps.

It said something about both him and Natasha that he hadn’t noticed how tightly she was wound until she loosened up.

She was tightly wound all the time and just hid her tells well. Tony still hadn’t figured them out in spite of living more or less together for about two years now.

“Thank you, Tony,” she said softly, gaze averting.

Tony’s nod was a bit stiff, and he wasn’t sure if he let himself relax until the door was closed behind him.

He was still pretty sure it was going to devolve into some kind of mess between those three. But there wasn’t much he could do to stop it at this point, so he just had to prepare himself for the fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. If it isn't the very predictable consequences of their actions.  
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and I'm really happy with the reception this is getting so far <3


	5. Chapter 5

Djenya actually hadn’t expected Tony to come back into his room so soon. His face had paled when he mentioned his name, and he was quick to make some excuse before leaving the room in a near-rush.

It hurt, for some reason he couldn’t put a name to. He was fairly used to people keeping distant, to them being afraid of him, but there was an obvious pit in his stomach after he’d watched both Tony and Steve abandon a conversation with him to all but run out the door out of nowhere within days of each other.

This time, once the door shut behind Tony and it was clear he was alone, Djenya actually took off the mask. It wasn’t comfortable to wear, but he found it bearable enough most of the time. But something about it bothered him after his second or third conversation with Steve. Something about the way he’d looked at him before making up a poor excuse to leave the building almost immediately.

Maybe the mask was frightening to most people. Though Steve had seen it before, so he wasn’t entirely sure what the problem was there.

If it was the mask, he thought, then that was something he could easily fix, something he could change.

Though, there was also the fact that Djenya was having a harder time getting a full breath with it on today. Hopefully it wasn’t the withdrawals returning, because that was something he distinctly remembered from last time. But considering the cramping that was starting to come back as well, that was most likely the culprit.

“You haven’t been gone long,” Djenya said, looking at the black tac gear cradled in his mismatched hands and only keeping Tony in his periphery.

“Yeah, I needed to look at some blueprints. That arm of yours is kind of a mess still.”

It was a lie. Not as obvious as Steve’s had been, but Djenya recognized it all the same. He didn't dare call him out on it, though.

While Tony crossed the room with what looked like careless ease, Djenya could still feel the tension radiating off of him. Not quite as badly as it had been, at least.

Djenya finally looked at him properly, not moving from his position on the counter. There was only so much time he could spend in his haphazard nest, and there wasn’t any furniture here for him to use, so he made do with what he had.

After what felt like several minutes, Tony spoke again, starting to pace between the window to the door as he did. “Look, I’m not sure if this one bothers you or not, because you’re really not that much of a chatterbox, but I can make you an arm that’s lighter and won’t mess with your spine as much as that one.”

He frowned a bit, thoroughly distracted almost immediately. A new arm? He could barely remember how he’d obtained this one, but he was pretty sure it had hurt terribly and that wasn’t something that he wanted to go through again.

It was odd, though, that he was being given a choice in the matter. He wasn’t sure if HYDRA would do the same.

Or. He was sure, even if he couldn’t remember any incidents to back that knowledge up.

“How would that work, exactly?” he asked. Maybe that would be the deciding factor for him, on whether or not he would accept. If it would hurt to get a new one put on then he would see if they were honest about giving him a choice, or if it was just a red herring.

“I’m pretty sure I could build one that matches up to the port that’s already there, so there’d be no surgery. Once it’s done, I should be able to disengage that one, pop the new one right in, and you’ll be good to go do whatever with it.”

It sounded too easy. Too simple. There had to be a catch somewhere, but he wasn’t hearing it and he wasn’t entirely sure that Tony would tell him what it was.

“Why?”

Tony blinked a bit, pausing mid-step and focusing intently on him. “Because your current one is heavy and seems like it’s hurting you? I mean, I can only take so much weight off the one you’ve got, but if you want I can just keep doing that instead.”

Djenya frowned, setting aside the mask to free up his hands. “That’s it?” HYDRA hadn’t cared about that sort of thing, and he’d learned to block out pain a long time ago for the sake of his missions. It seemed odd that someone would want to replace a perfectly functioning arm simply because it caused him discomfort.

Pity twisted Tony’s expression, and that grated on his nerves. It was something he’d considered taking advantage of when he’d first got here, but now? Now he didn't want to see it.

“Yeah, that’s it. I mean, isn’t that enough reason?”

It was strange to consider that. That some people thought discomfort was enough of a reason to change something so major, and put in the amount of work it surely would take to do something like what Tony was suggesting.

But maybe it would be better if he went along with it. Regardless of the fact that it might not even help the ache that often developed in his back.

He let out a slow breath to steady himself. “All right. If you think it’s for the best.” What else was he even supposed to say to an offer like that? “When will that happen?”

It was strange how something so small as agreeing to that made the tension finally loosen from Tony’s shoulders. “Sooner rather than later, unless something extreme comes up. Give me a week or two and we’ll get you hooked up.”

A week seemed like a really short period of time to rebuild an arm. But then, Djenya wasn’t entirely sure how long it had taken to build this one, so maybe that was reasonable. Either that, or Tony was skilled enough to get one built incredibly quick, which he wouldn’t entirely doubt.

He didn't know what to say, so he simply nodded his agreement before sliding down to the floor with a muffled thump. “Thank you. Really.”

Tony waved dismissively, already stepping back towards the door. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously, it’s not a big deal.”

It  _ was _ a big deal, and Djenya wasn’t entirely sure why he was insisting on acting as if it was nothing.

He didn't linger much longer before leaving. Just long enough to ramble about how he already got the dimensions and all of that, and that he shouldn’t need to do any more scans, but that he would keep Djenya updated anyways, before finally closing the door behind him.

Tony was a quick talker. He could apparently cover a fair bit of ground in a limited amount of time, and Djenya wasn’t sure if that was admirable, or faintly stressful to try and keep up with.

Running ops with him seemed like it would be a nightmare.

Regardless, the room felt almost too quiet when Tony wasn’t there. Empty, in spite of the fact that it had only been one other person in there before. At least this time Tony didn't seem uncomfortable when he left. That helped soothe the ache in his chest a bit.

He wasn’t entirely sure why the silence was bothering him now, considering that he had relished in his time alone when he had first been allowed it here.

HYDRA, he thought, hadn’t let him have that. Djenya had always been surrounded by handlers, lab techs, and on the rare occasions he was left alone, he’d been strapped down.

The visits from Tony and Bruce were lessening now. Natalia still came by to talk at him several times a day, but there was no increase in frequency to fill up the space the other two left behind.

“JARVIS, is Steve Rogers around?” he found himself asking. The thought of putting the mask back on didn't sit well with him, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Natalia right now either.

“Captain Rogers is currently sparring with Thor. Shall I request his presence for you?”

That was an unfamiliar name, but Djenya figured that Thor was the unnamed Omega who had been there during his withdrawals the first time. “No. If he’s occupied, leave him alone.”

“Very well, Sergeant.”

Again with the Sergeant. Probably he should ask JARVIS why he kept using that title for him, but part of him wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.

Part of him worried that, if he pulled that thread, he’d learn something worse than the myriad of things he already suspected about his past.

He already didn't like the weird, unfamiliar twinges he would get, often at Natalia’s or Steve’s prompting. Remembering made things more complicated than he wanted them to be, but he got the sense that it was going to keep happening whether he wanted to or not.

It was made marginally worse by the fact that he found himself wanting companionship. Steve’s, in particular. He couldn’t think up a reason to explain that away either, when it was Natalia he knew before coming here.

Another wave of cramping hit, though not as strongly as earlier. It didn't do much more than make him grimace, hands clenching for a brief second before it subsided.

If it was his withdrawals returning, he hoped they didn't strap him down to the table until it was over again.

* * *

“Captain Rogers, you may want to consider going to Sergeant’s floor.”

Steve’s hand paused over the towel he’d barely knotted around his waist. Sergeant. Who was Sergeant?

The only logical answer was Djenya, but he wasn’t entirely sure why he would be referred to as that. As far as he knew, HYDRA didn't use army ranks, and he doubted the Red Room did either.

Maybe it was a Tony thing. Especially if JARVIS had needed to refer to Djenya as anything before his name had come back to him. Sergeant was definitely a strange nickname, but it was probably a reference to something Steve hadn’t seen yet. Sort of like the week when JARVIS had referred to Thor as ‘Point Break’, which still didn't make sense to him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, buying himself at least a little time, though he doubted it would work for very long.

He knew, logically, that he didn't have to go up to his floor, even if JARVIS recommended it. That didn't mean it was likely he’d ignore the request.

“He asked not to bother you if you were busy, but seeing as you are now unoccupied, I thought it might be prudent to pass along regardless.”

In spite of the fact that it seemed to at least act as an answer, Steve couldn't help but feel like his question had went entirely unaddressed. “Did he say why he wanted to see me?”

“No, however he is showing mild signs of distress.”

That got his attention quicker than it maybe should have. Mild signs of distress could mean anything as far as JARVIS was concerned. Tony burned his arm again? Mild signs of distress. Clint discovering all the coffee was gone? Mild signs of distress. It was JARVIS’ catch-all, and unhelpfully vague right now.

He let out a slow breath before drying himself off in brusque, economic movements. In spite of the soreness that lingered after Thor had thoroughly zapped him mid-skirmish, he found himself moving quickly so he could get up to Djenya’s floor as soon as he could.

JARVIS had said that it was only mild, he kept reminding himself. If it was a major problem, he would have said as much. There was nothing for Steve to be worrying about.

It would be easier to convince himself of that once Djenya was in front of him.

He didn't knock. The door wasn’t locked and if he’d been asked for then surely Djenya was already expecting him. And, mild or not, Steve didn't like the thought of Djenya being in distress, especially if he was alone.

Sam wouldn’t be happy. Steve wasn’t even happy about it, but it was a work in progress to not associate Djenya with Bucky.

Which was probably a bad thing, since the only definitive similarities were the scent and his coloring. All vague, innocuous things, especially in comparison to the disparity in their builds and mannerisms.

The first thing Steve noticed upon walking into the room was that there was definitely something wrong with his scent. It was bitter, almost metallic in a way that got Steve’s jaw clenching and his chest tightening.

“Djenya?” he called, not immediately spotting the man. Though the shifting of fabric quickly drew his eye to the pile of blankets in the corner near the door. The makeshift nest he likely used to sleep in, Steve realized belatedly.

Steve closed the door quietly behind him, not entirely sure what to do with himself now that he was up here. It was stupid of him, probably, to rush up here. He kind of felt like an idiot for not pressing JARVIS for more details earlier, knowing full well that the AI would have told him anything that hadn’t been deemed ‘classified’.

Whatever it was that he had picked up on wasn’t immediately clear to Steve, though he sank to his knees regardless. Not wanting to intrude, but unsure what to do with himself.

Slowly, Djenya emerged, eyes squinting as if it was unbearably bright in the room. The blankets around him were carelessly tangled, but he seemed to have burrowed beneath some of them. Steve couldn’t help but notice the flush over his skin, even though the mask still obscured most of his face. It was fastened looser than usual, and Steve could almost glimpse the top of his cheekbones now. Sharper than Bucky’s had ever been, and Steve tried not to be disappointed when he noticed that. Another difference between the two.

“I told him not to bother you.”

Steve winced at how hoarse Djenya’s voice was. Water. He probably needed water to help with that. “In JARVIS’ defense, he only classified it as ‘mild distress’.”

Djenya grumbled wordlessly, pressing his face back into the blankets. “It’s just a little pain. Nothing’s wrong.”

In spite of the fact that he had just knelt down, it felt hard to get back up. A lot of his own stiffness was probably in his own head, or the result of being so close to an Omega that just didn't smell right.

If it was the latter, it was definitely exasperated by the fact that it was tinged with salt, and almost uncomfortably close to how Bucky’s was before the army put him on more rigorous suppressants.

He managed, though. Got himself upright and crossed into the kitchen area to pull out a glass so he could bring Djenya water to help with at least part of the problem. “Do you have any painkillers?”

“They don’t make painkillers strong enough for me.” It sounded like Djenya was speaking through gritted teeth, but he couldn’t tell for sure. The mask tended to muffle his voice.

Steve hummed in sympathy. It had taken a long time for anyone to formulate something strong enough for  _ him _ . During the war, it was easier to just wait it out because by the time anyone could find anything in the medical kit, he was already mostly healed anyways. Hell, even now he was mostly healed by the time they finally got off the field, with a few notable exceptions.

Fighting Djenya on the helicarrier had been one of those exceptions, since it had been bad enough that he had been hospitalized for a few days afterwards.

“Bruce can maybe help out with that. Have you met him yet?”

“He doesn’t come up unless he’s with Tony.” Djenya picked his head up again, eyeing the water with a plaintive little tilt to his brows. “I wasn’t going to bother him with it either. It was worse the first time I was here.”

For a moment, the meaning didn't quite register with Steve. It was hard not to feel like an idiot when he remembered why he hadn’t been informed of Djenya’s arrival to begin with.

Suppressant withdrawals.

It probably shouldn’t have surprised him to hear that there were still episodes of that. Though maybe he had expected someone to put him back on suppressants so that they could avoid this, because he doubted Djenya was comfortable right now.

Granted, he hadn’t picked up the tang suppressants often added to an Omega’s scent, so he wasn’t sure why it hadn’t actually occurred to him earlier.

He set the glass down carefully, sitting on the floor himself but making sure not to get too close unless Djenya asked. “Do you remember anything that helped make it easier last time?”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out to take the glass with his right hand, though he made no move to start loosening the straps further. As it was, Steve could almost get a glimpse of the bridge of his nose, and it was probably a little pathetic on his part to feel so attached to someone who both tried to kill him, and also hadn’t shown his entire face.

“I don’t remember a lot of it. There wasn’t much to remember, since I wasn’t allowed to move much.” His gaze was averted sheepishly, and he put down the water just as slowly as he’d picked it up.

Focusing on that small gesture was all Steve could really do unless he wanted to get swept up in the irrational anger that surged through him.

He hadn’t been allowed to move while going through something as awful as withdrawal. Of course it wouldn’t have done much good even if he could, most likely, but there was something that felt horrific about the mere notion of it.

Steve got the sense that he would feel horrified over much of Djenya’s past. He didn't try to dig into his files for a reason, though he assumed someone on the team had them. And if not, he was sure JARVIS could obtain them easily enough, since Natasha had put all of SHIELD’s--and by extension, HYDRA’s--information out on the internet.

After finding out that HYDRA had all but erased Djenya’s name from his memory, Steve was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to stomach it, with how protective he already felt over the man.

Djenya retreated further into his nest, and Steve forced himself to calm down, to breathe. It wouldn’t help any if he started scenting anger all over Djenya’s room, especially right now.

“I’m sorry. Do you have any idea what might help, or are you just going to ride it out like this?” he asked, once he got ahold of himself a little bit better.

In spite of the fact that he couldn’t see it happen, Steve got the sense that Djenya was chewing on the inside of his lip. “It’d be nice if you stayed. But I don’t think there’s anything that can be done to help.”

Steve was pretty sure that he was going to stay regardless of that. He wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to bring himself to leave, even if nothing was exactly wrong here anyways.

Sam was probably right and he really needed to try harder to separate Djenya from Bucky.

“Can I touch you?” he asked. It wasn’t treating Djenya like Bucky. It was just Steve trying to replicate what he’d done the last time he’d been near an Omega going through this.

It just so happened the last time he’d seen this happen, it was with Bucky.

While there was something wary in Djenya’s eyes, he nodded after several seconds had passed. Maybe his throat was too dry to talk, since he hadn’t taken that mask off yet to drink.

Did he think he wasn’t allowed to or something? It would explain why it was on every time Steve had seen him, including both times when it had been too early for anyone else on the team to reasonably be awake.

He didn't comment on that now, though. One thing at a time.

Steve edged closer carefully, settling himself near the nest without actually getting into it. “Come here,” he said softly, gently urging his thigh beneath Djenya’s head so that he could comb through his hair.

He hadn’t been lying when he said Bucky wouldn’t be caught dead with hair like this. Long, unkempt, undone. While Steve was pretty sure he couldn’t fairly call him ‘vain’, Bucky was very particular about how he portrayed himself to the world. Even if he did grow his hair out, it wouldn’t be in this state.

While Djenya didn't put up a fight, he didn't make much move to help either. He went where Steve put him, but there was obvious tension in his back and shoulders that probably wasn’t helping matters.

“I had a friend go through this before,” he said, when it became obvious that Djenya wasn’t going to talk. “Couldn’t afford painkillers for him, but I can try what helped him out and see if it works for you, too.”

There was a moment’s pause before Djenya nodded. Steve took a slow breath before starting to sort through the tangles and knots carefully, until he could at least start smoothing through the dark locks with relative ease.

“You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, more to himself than Djenya. It was more likely he’d believe actions over words anyways.

Working around the straps of the mask was difficult, but not impossible. And while it was definitely loose and slipping, he doubted Djenya wanted it to come off, considering he’d been wearing it when Steve had come in. And it seemed like it wasn’t his place to comment on it, regardless of how it was at least slightly unsettling to look at in contrast with the blankets and with the lack of leather armor and weaponry.

Once he got to the point where Djenya seemed to at least somewhat relax, Steve changed tactics a bit. While he continued to smooth through Djenya’s hair, he switched hands and pressed his palm over the exposed nape of his neck. Right over the bonding point, and there was a certain relief in noting that the skin was smooth under his palm. No claiming mark. No one from HYDRA had forced him into a bond.

The result was instant and visceral; Djenya’s hands tightened into fists as a muffled yelp tore from his throat. There was a sharp twist to his body before he ultimately went limp.

It made his heart clench uncomfortably to watch, but he tried not to let that show. He made a point to hush Djenya in spite of the fact that he wasn’t actually putting up a fuss. “That’s it, just breathe. You’re all right; I’m not going to hurt you. It’s going to help, I swear.”

In the back of his mind, Steve couldn’t help the nagging sense that this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be doing this with an Omega he really didn't know. Especially one with a history like Djenya surely had.

He tried not to think about that. Instead, he just tried to focus on the steady breathing he could almost feel against thigh through the thick denim of his jeans, in spite of the fact that it was surely impossible with the mask in the way.

Maybe that wasn’t something he should think about either.

The whole thing was probably a terrible idea to think about, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop either. Not when Djenya’s scent was mellowing out because of it.

The click of Djenya’s throat was audible when he swallowed, but at least his shoulders started to loosen. A ripple went through the metal plates, and Steve was pretty sure his eyes slipped shut.

It probably helped at least the worst of the discomfort. And it wasn’t long before Steve was feeling around the edges of the mask so he could press his wrist to one of the scent glands there, which caused Djenya to all but turn to putty under his hands.

“That’s it, there you go,” he said softly, ignoring the soft near-keen from Djenya that made his skin prickle.

This was a terrible idea. Almost definitely an invasion of Djenya’s space. Steve couldn’t bring himself to stop, especially when Djenya didn't seem inclined to try and make him.

They stayed like that for longer than Steve could defend, though he left just long enough for Djenya to down the glass of water before he resumed scent-marking him until Djenya seemed to drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve: King of terrible decisions
> 
> I think writing wise I'm getting to the point where I should be able to give a rough chapter estimate within the next couple of updates, so that'll be nice. That said, I'm still working roughly five chapters ahead of what I post, so. There's still plenty to come
> 
> Anyways, I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it, and I'll see you guys again next week <3


	6. Chapter 6

Steve wasn’t exactly sure why he’d started spending more time with Djenya after his second bout of withdrawals. Theoretically, nothing had really changed between them, and Djenya hadn’t asked for anything even remotely like that again from him, which was almost more disappointing than it should have been.

He  _ was _ sure that it was drawing curious glances from most of the team, but there was something almost pleased in Natasha’s gaze whenever she spotted the two of them together.

That made a bit of sense, he supposed. She was the one who mentioned bringing him onto the team; she would want Djenya to mesh well with their de facto leader.

“They seems to be getting along,” she said conversationally, hauling herself up onto the counter next to Steve as he tried to pull together something for the team breakfast. In spite of it being nearly noon at this point, which made it more of a lunch but there were still pancakes being made so it still counted.

He glanced up from the skillet over to where Djenya and Tony were playing some sort of racing game. They definitely were sitting rather far apart, but Steve was beginning to think that Djenya liked space from everyone but him. Which was something he shouldn’t feel smug over, but there it was. “It’s a start.”

Steve could practically hear her smile, though he didn't look over to make sure.

“It would be easier to trust him if he didn't wear that mask all the time, but I don’t want to be the one to bring it up to him,” he continued.

While it wasn’t quite fishing for answers, he found himself watching from his periphery to see if she reacted anyways. He had a few suspicions why Djenya never took it off, but he didn't want to risk making it awkward in case he was wrong.

It was disappointing when Nat didn't seem to react to that at all.

“I’m sure he’ll get there soon enough. It's only been a couple months, you know. He’s only just started interacting with the team on his own terms, rather than us coming up to look in on him.”

There was that, at least. Steve could admit that it really hadn’t been that long; it just felt like it. The slight background tension to the team made time seem to drag on until the days felt like weeks. “You know more than you’re telling us, don’t you?”

That actually got a hint of a smile out of her, though it was short lived. “The Winter Soldier trained me in the Red Room. Whether he remembers that or not I couldn’t tell you, but I’d be surprised if he did. I had to prompt him to just get the name ‘Djenya’ back.”

Steve had to breathe slowly as he tucked that bit of confirmation away. He’d suspected. The name sounded Russian enough, and the fact that Natasha had been the one to bring him in? It seemed plausible that they had known each other. But it was a little frustrating that she hadn’t mentioned it sooner.

“So why let him go without a name if you knew what it was?”

There was something contemplative in the way she watched both him and Tony from across the room. Tony seemed to have the same habit of hunching over and complaining about gameplay as Clint did. “I don’t think it would be unfair to put expectations like that on him. He doesn’t remember himself; why should I try to make him be the person  _ I  _ remember?”

Steve hadn’t even remotely considered that. He certainly hadn’t considered how hard this probably was on her, too wrapped up in himself and how it was affecting the rest of the team.

That was probably the price she decided to pay so she could appear unflappable, and Steve couldn’t help the pang in his chest to consider that. They were a team. They were supposed to look out for each other, but it often felt like they all preferred to suffer in silence rather than ask for help.

But he wasn’t enough of a hypocrite to say that out loud.

He was careful when placing a hand on her shoulder, not wanting to come off as trying to overpower her or anything like that. “If you want to talk about it…”

Natasha clasped a hand over his for a brief moment before shrugging him off. “What is there to talk about? He’s doing well; it will come back to him eventually. It’s just a matter of waiting until then, isn’t it?”

It was hard not to frown, to keep his face smooth as he turned his attention back to the pair on the couches. And it was even harder not to notice that Djenya was staring at both of them, though Steve tried to make sure to not look too long at Djenya in return.

That was harder than it really should have been.

“He likes spending time with you, though. Regardless of what he does and doesn’t remember, I think that’s a pretty good first step.”

Natasha hip-checked him as she passed, and now he could practically  _ smell _ the smugness radiating off of her, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, nor could he parse out what she meant by that. After all, wouldn’t it be better if he spent more time with Natasha if he was remembering more?

* * *

It wasn’t that Djenya had come to the conclusion that he would stay here for the rest of his days. He’d passed through many handlers before; he had no doubt that would continue on.

But this… This was nice. This was something he wouldn’t mind holding onto until HYDRA, or the Red Room, or whoever would come after, came in to take him into their fold.

Maybe this was why they never kept him up too long. So that he couldn’t get attached to any particular group, or team, or handler. Though he couldn’t imagine getting attached to most of his past handlers, considering that they didn't treat him like a person.

Not that he really  _ was _ a person to them.

He started taking the suppressants Natalia--Natasha, the rest called her--had left for him nearly a month ago, figuring at this point that it wasn’t any more dangerous than whatever HYDRA had deigned to do to him while he was with them. And honestly it was a bit better, considering he hadn’t had a choice in the matter there.

Though, in spite of the fact that Tony had insisted an arm would be ready in a week or two, there seemed to be no signs of it. Djenya was pretty sure he had overestimated himself on that front and didn't consider it more than that.

While he was sure it was only temporary, he’d more or less decided to try and take advantage of the time he had here, even though he knew HYDRA would possibly just cut their losses and kill him when they finally got him back.

After finally making himself at least mostly comfortable on the communal floors, he let JARVIS show him around other parts of the Tower he was allowed into.

Out of all the floors he explored, he never came across the white-walled room he had been kept in upon his first arrival, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Maybe he didn't have clearance to go there on his own. Maybe it just wasn’t important.

The training room was odd, for lack of a better word. There was a wide array of equipment and what looked like several projectors were on the ceiling, though he couldn’t quite figure out what those were for. He didn't particularly care enough to ask, either. If they ever deployed him on missions, they would likely show him everything then.

That was where he first encountered Thor, however. And Thor didn't seem to know what to make of him anymore than Djenya knew what to make of Thor.

Thor was definitely not the Omega who had checked in on him when he first arrived.

He had gestured to the mask, asking if it could be removed and when Djenya shook his head all Thor did was nod, saying he had seen spelled masks that look similar to his before.

Whatever that meant.

Somehow that devolved to sparring, and Djenya got the sense that Thor wasn’t even using half of his strength against him, and it was still enough to overwhelm him.

There was definitely a cheery sort of smugness Thor seemed to emanate, but Djenya couldn’t pick up a scent on him to save his life.

It was… good, though. Thor’s good mood seemed as infectious as his booming laughter was, though neither of them really talked about much of anything.

When he found himself on Steve’s floor several hours later, he looked and felt a little worse for wear. But oddly exhilarated at the same time.

“Jesus, Djenya,” Steve said, nearly a breath, as he jolted to his feet and nearly vaulted over the arm of the chair he’d been in. The sketchbook that had been in his lap fell to the floor with a flutter of pages.

It was hard not to laugh, though he could feel himself smile in spite of himself. The worst he could feel was a small cut on his cheek where the mask had dug in. “I think Thor is a tougher opponent than you are. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t pulling his punches.”

Just like that, Steve seemed to relax, that burned urgency from his scent dissipating at a ridiculously quick rate even as he hesitantly reached out to touch the top of the already-healing cut.

Djenya had long since noticed that his emotions seemed to change on a dime. Steve felt a lot, and he didn't seem to know how to go about hiding any of it.

“Thor is definitely a worthy opponent. Were you two just…?”

Djenya shrugged a bit, crossing the room to pick up the sketchbook and hand it back to Steve. “He didn't know I was here. I’m assuming he’s part of a different team?”

“He lives on a different planet, but he’s part of the Avengers.”

The Avengers sounded like a terrible name to Djenya. He was pretty sure HYDRA’s teams had been numbered, or lettered, or something that was easy to sort through and organize. “He lives on a different planet, but he still works for you?”

Steve’s shrug looked a little helpless as he fiddled with the sketchbook. “Can I… Does that hurt?” He tapped his own cheek, roughly where Djenya’s cut was.

“It will be gone by morning.”

There was a small frown etched between Steve’s brows, but he didn't comment on how that wasn’t an answer to the question he had asked. Instead, he just raked a hand through his hair and took a slow breath. “Ok. All right. Did you… I mean, is everything else all right?”

Maybe he should have considered that closer before showing up in here. After all, the last time he’d specifically asked for Steve, he’d been going through withdrawals, and he certainly didn't plan on that happening again. They had spent a fair bit of time together on his floor, as well as on the communal floors, but this was the first time he’d been up to Steve’s.

Maybe he was only supposed to seek Steve out if he needed something. “Does something have to be wrong for me to come here?”

Immediately, Steve started to backtrack with his hands raised placatingly. “No, no, of course not. I just… You haven’t, before, and I wasn’t sure…”

Djenya had to swallow around a lump in his throat. Steve was so  _ earnest _ , and while it didn't particularly surprise him, it felt… It felt familiar in ways that it really shouldn’t.

The echoes of Natasha insisting that ‘he’s kind’ came back, uninvited, unwanted.

His gaze dropped, taking half a step back towards the door. “Everything’s all right. I just… It’s nice. Being around you.” Djenya chanced a quick look back up at him, unsure why he felt so small right then.

Steve seemed to loosen at that. Hands dropping along with his shoulders. “I’m not doing anything interesting,” he warned, motioning to the seating in front of his own television. “But if you want to sit up here with me, that’s fine. I don’t mind the company.”

It was ridiculous. The whole situation was ridiculous, and Djenya probably should just return to keeping to himself, but he was pretty sure it was far too late for that. He’d gotten used to the company.

He couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than curl up in one of the chairs, watching as Steve took the one opposite of him and started sketching again.

Occasionally, he’d glance up to Djenya, a little furrow between his brows, and the memory of that same little blond man from before telling him to ‘quit squirming, Buck, you’re making this harder than it needs to be’ occurred to him more than once.

Though, regardless of how many times he thought it, Djenya wasn’t sure who ‘Buck’ was. It would be less troublesome if there had been someone else in that faded snippet of a memory, if that’s really what it was.

* * *

Bruce would generally say he had gotten pretty used to wrangling Tony over the few years they had lived together. There was a trick to getting him out of his work binges, and that trick was to ask Tony for his help with some small thing that wasn’t in the lab and then slowly urge him up to his room from there.

Though, ever since the Winter Soldier came to stay with them it was getting increasingly more difficult to get Tony to do much of anything, and while he wasn’t entirely sure how the two things were related, he knew that they were.

It was also increasingly more likely that he’d wake up to find that Tony hadn’t left the lab all night.

The surprising part was, this time when Bruce came down to find him, he was staring at old photographs of Steve and the Howling Commandos instead of blueprints of the arm that they had very nearly finished almost three days ago before Tony had abandoned it entirely.

“Tones, it’s seven in the morning.”

For what it was worth, Tony didn't startle. He blinked a few times when his gaze came to settle on Bruce but he didn't look overly manic, which was a plus.

“I took a nap around, like, three. It’s fine, I’m fine.”

It was almost definitely not fine, but Bruce was pretty sure confronting him head-on about it would only make things worse. “What exactly are you looking at?”

Tony gestured to the projection, somehow managing to zoom in on one of their shoulders in the process. “I’m trying to get a better look at this. I mean, the arm we’ve got is nice and all, but. Personalization might be good? And I don’t think he wants to carry around that red star or anything like that.”

There was something odd about that statement. Personalization, sure. Getting rid of the red star, fine. But… “Why exactly are you looking at the uniform of one of Steve’s old teammates for inspiration?” While Bruce didn't recognize them by name, and certainly not by appearance, there was no mistaking who they were regardless.

The fact that Steve was there with them helped identify that much.

Tony’s mouth opened before snapping shut, a now-familiar pallor coming over him. That had  _ also _ become more frequent since Djenya’s arrival, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. It wasn’t as if he had any issues actually being around Djenya, aside from a little bit of nervous babbling.

And he was almost positive it would be hard to get a straight answer out of him without using some less-than-nice tactics, but he got the sense that Tony got enough of that sort of thing from Steve and Pepper. Regardless of how well meaning both of them were.

With a sigh, Bruce waved the picture aside, having to adjust to the new darkness of the room. “All right, we’re getting you to bed. If you’re good I’ll even make you breakfast in a couple hours.”

“I’m not a kid, you know. I don’t need someone herding me off to bed at ‘a decent hour’.”

“A decent hour would have been almost ten hours ago.”

It took a lot of grumbling to actually get Tony to lay down, though Bruce only managed to wrangle him onto the beat up couch in the lab. It was at least a partial victory, even though he was sure he’d be up and working the second Bruce left.

That normally wouldn’t be a problem since Bruce tended to stay in the lab for at least an hour or two to keep an eye on him, but he had to try and do  _ something _ about this. And as little as he knew about what was going on in regards to this whole thing, he knew where he’d most likely find the answers.

“JARVIS, Natasha’s floor,” he instructed as soon as the elevator door was shut.

“Ms. Romanoff is currently asleep. I would advise against it.”

Bruce’s hands tightened for a brief moment, fighting off the urge to wait, to try and leave it be until she was at least awake. “Now, JARVIS.”

He got the sense that the AI would sigh if he were able to. But he liked to think that JARVIS liked him almost as much as he liked his creator, especially since there weren’t any further protestations as the elevator went up several dozen floors.

Only when he stood in front of her door did he pause. Bruce wouldn’t be able to get in unless Natasha allowed him to. As far as he knew, the only one who had clearance to enter personal floors without permission was Tony, and even that was a little iffy.

And knocking wouldn’t get him very far if she was really asleep, which led Bruce to wonder when he’d let himself start acting so rashly again.

“JARVIS, can you let Natasha know I need to speak with her, urgently?”

There was a long pause before JARVIS agreed, but a shorter pause before the door opened to reveal a very disgruntled looking Natasha. Considering the fact that JARVIS had clearly woken her up, she looked far more put together than anyone in flannel pants had any right to.

“This couldn’t have waited until after I made coffee?” she asked, though left the door open enough for Bruce to come in.

Not that he particularly wanted to do that unless she asked.

“Do you want to tell me why Tony’s been acting weird ever since you brought the Winter Soldier to stay with us?”

Her jaw clenched, but she did step away from the door. It was probably the closest he was going to get to an actual invitation, so he took it and closed the door behind himself.

“What makes you think I would know anything about that?” she asked, pointedly not looking back at Bruce while she headed towards the coffee pot. “You spend more time with Tony than anyone else here does.”

Bruce was pretty sure his pulse was rising, his anxiety along with it. He’d be more concerned about it if he wasn’t positive he had his anger in control, but he sure as hell was frustrated to be dealing with this. “But you’re the one who spends the most time with Djenya. You’re the one who  _ brought _ him here to begin with.”

Natasha hummed softly, getting a carton out of a mini fridge and acting all the world like she wasn’t bothered.

Of course, Bruce caught her glancing at the knife block a couple times, so he was pretty sure her fear of him hadn’t faded yet.

He usually wasn’t pleased about that, but these were extenuating circumstances and he’d take what he could get right now.

“I found him this morning staring at an old picture of Steve and his team during World War II. Wouldn’t tell me why, except something about ‘personalizing’ Djenya’s new arm. What’s going on, Natasha?”

It almost looked like her hands were shaking, though the rest of her was impeccably still. Looking completely unruffled even though Bruce knew better.

After all, it was easy to recognize a façade of calm when he saw it on himself every time he looked in the mirror.

Finally, she met his gaze head on. “No one knows about this but Tony and myself. This is to stay between us, not only for our own sakes, but for Djenya’s and Steve’s as well. Do you understand?”

In spite of how much Bruce didn't like the sound of that, he nodded once, feeling a little stiff. The fact that Tony wasn’t allowed to talk about something probably was a good source of his newfound stress. Sure, he could keep secrets just fine, but only the ones he  _ wanted  _ to keep.

Natasha sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I never lied. He trained me at the Red Room, and I more or less named him Djenya at the time. I didn't realize until after the Smithsonian exhibit went up that he was actually Bucky Barnes. Steve’s best friend from the war.”

Something in him went cold, and he wasn’t entirely sure which new piece of information was the main source of it. The fact that Natasha was hiding this from Steve, from... From Bucky, apparently, and the fact that Tony knew and was visibly tearing himself up about it? There was no scenario where this was going to play out well, he just knew it.

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re lying to everyone on the team for… For  _ what _ reason, exactly?”

“Would you like it if you were coming out of brainwashing, couldn’t even remember your own name, and all the sudden you have an overeager best friend like Steve coddling you all the time?”

Bruce winced a bit. He liked Steve. But he knew Steve could be a lot, and he remembered how he’d latched onto Tony for a few weeks early on, right after the Chitauri invasion and how unflatteringly jealous it had made him. But still…

“He’s going to find out. They’re both going to find out, and do you think either of them are going to thank you for keeping this from them? Hell, when Steve finds out--”

“Why do you think I’m running with the Red Room angle right now?” Natasha interrupted. “Steve’s not going to find out that we already knew, because Steve would not react well to that. I wouldn’t have gone this direction if I thought it would have negative repercussions on us.”

Bruce shook his head, fighting the urge to pace. ‘Negative repercussions’. It was so fucking  _ clinical _ . “I have to tell--”

“Do you think Steve will take it well when he finds out Tony knew all along?”

That got Bruce to stop entirely, and there was a split second of panic where he was so sure they were about to have a Code Green on Natasha’s floor at… At seven in the goddamn morning.

Steve wouldn’t get violent. Bruce knew that, knew that whatever would happen wouldn’t be anything completely unforgivable, but… 

But Bruce still recognized a threat when he heard one. But he hadn’t expected to ever be in a position like this again.

Apparently the fiasco with Betty hadn’t taught him much of anything.

When he actually forced himself to breathe, to put himself back in the current moment, Natasha had a death grip on the counter.

Of course Bruce had to go and get himself caught up in the exact same bullshit Tony was in when he’d just been trying to help Tony out of it to begin with. It was just his luck.

“I’m throwing you under the bus the second this goes sideways,” he warned, taking a shaky step back towards the door.

Her answering smile was a little bland, but at least she looked moderately more relaxed now than she had earlier. She was no longer glancing at the kitchen knives, at least. “From what Tony tells me, you’ll have to wait your turn to do that. But if Tony’s going to put something like that on his arm, then he might want to hold off on attaching it to Djenya until  _ after _ he and Steve know.”

Bruce grit his teeth, but pointedly didn't answer her. He just turned on his heel, and asked JARVIS to take him back to the lab

When he made it back down there, he was unsurprised to see Tony exactly where he’d found him when he’d walked through the door the first time this morning: staring at that same old, grainy photograph.

Bruce sighed, enhancing the contrast before standing behind Tony to see if he could get a decent view of what Tony was trying to see.

“Natasha told me,” he said softly, trying to keep his hands still when Tony shuddered and almost went limp. Like all his strings were cut at once.

“Great. So everyone knows but them.”

It hurt to see him like this. But there wasn’t really anything Bruce could  _ do _ about it.

So he brought his hands to hover over Tony’s shoulders, urging him back a step. “Come on. You’ll be able to see better after you’ve had some rest. We’ll work on a second, blank one to put on him when you’re more awake.”

It was more of a relief than he’d ever admit when Tony followed without putting up a bit of a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Times like this I remember how much I like Bruce as a character. And how much I enjoy writing him
> 
> In other news, I'm not quite as far ahead as I anticipated I would be, mostly due to a small anxiety flare up, but I should be able to make up for it this week, barring anything else coming up.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading, and I appreciate all your comments, kudos, etc <3


	7. Chapter 7

Life seemed to go on from there. Steve still thought that Tony was a little more skittish than he should be, but it had at least gotten better than it was when Djenya first came here. Though he was clocking in more lab time than usual, but that on its own seemed more or less standard. He went through creative fits that would last weeks at a time, so Steve chalked it up to another one of those.

Bruce admitted a few days prior that Tony had been working on perfecting the new arm for Djenya, and was agonizing over what to replace the star with. Steve didn't know why he was surprised that Tony was worrying about that, considering his habit of taking on people as pack without very much consideration.

Or, it seemed that way, seeing how he’d taken the entire team in with such little notice.

Sometimes, it felt like they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, it couldn’t be this easy to bring the Winter Soldier in and have him become one of their own and yet…

Well. Maybe easy was the wrong word for it, since he still spent most of the time on his own, even if he was now on the communal floors fairly regularly.

The only one he seemed to actively seek out was Steve, and there was a weird sense of pride that went along with that knowledge. And it seemed like Steve was the only one Djenya would allow to touch him just in general; not scent marking or anything like that, but their knees would knock together whenever they were on the same couch. Which was surprisingly often, now.

Sam was getting really annoyed with the whole thing, if Steve was being honest. Though, the fact that he was the least tense about Djenya even being here really said something.

Well. Least tense aside from Steve. Everyone else, even Tony and Bruce, had started to get a wariness to them, in spite of how much time they spent with him and that it didn't seem like they had a problem  _ with _ Djenya.

The whole thing felt weirder now than it did when they were first hiding him here, and Steve couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. Less tense, but more like something was just  _ off _ .

“Sergeant has requested access to your room,” JARVIS reported, not long after Steve woke up, sun not even above the horizon yet. It still felt like it was the middle of the night, and it very well could be.

Absently, he wondered if JARVIS waited to tell him this until after he was awake, or if Djenya had only now asked for entry.

Either way, it was entirely too early to be letting an unbonded Omega into his room, but he knew better than to think he was about to say no.

“Just give him total access to my floor,” he said, even as he buried his face in the pillows again. He should get up, put a shirt on, something. Steve had a hard time convincing himself to get upright to begin with.

There was a good chance his rut was going to hit in the next couple weeks. That was usually the culprit when he felt too heavy to do much of anything. Even more of a reason he shouldn’t be letting Djenya come in, but it was too late now. And he would probably have a hard time regretting it until after his hormones settled back down.

It felt like several minutes passed before he heard his door open, so at least Djenya hadn’t been waiting outside his door for Steve to wake up.

Quietly, he heard JARVIS direct Djenya to his room, and it was now entirely too late to get up and get presentable.

There were worse things in the world, he supposed.

The door to his room opened quietly, and there was something distressed in Djenya’s scent that got Steve upright in a hurry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, propping himself up onto his elbows. Even now, he noticed that the mask was securely fastened around the lower half of his face. Steve was convinced that he just slept in it at this point.

The pause before Djenya’s answer seemed to have a physical weight to it. “I’m not sure if it’s nightmares, or if I’m just remembering things I’d rather stay forgotten.”

It was hard not to react to that. Steve was very familiar with nightmares keeping him up, and they didn't seem to get better with time. Just wildly more varied than seeing Bucky strapped down in Azzano, or hearing him scream as he fell from the train.

Now he got to deal with nightmares involving aliens coming from the sky and watching Tony’s Malibu home collapse into the ocean.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Against his better judgment, Steve pulled back the blankets from the unused half of his bed, pressing his hand against the mattress to wordlessly offer it to Djenya.

There was no hesitation this time; the Omega all but crawling onto the bed and curling up tightly on his side.

Steve wasn’t actually sure if Djenya  _ had _ a bed, or if it was just that pile of blankets that he’d seen by the door.

“It blurs together a lot,” he said, voice even more muted than usual. “A lot of faces, a lot of blood. I know that I’m the one who caused the bleeding. I  _ know _ that, even if I can’t remember how, or why, but I…”

Somehow, it caught Steve by surprise more than it reasonably should have, and he turned onto his side to actually face the Omega. He hadn’t wanted Djenya on the team  _ because _ he’d undoubtedly killed so many people at HYDRA’s command, but he hadn’t considered that maybe they’d come back to him like this.

Maybe that was how everything came back to him, and this was the first time he’d felt like he needed someone who wasn’t Natasha to help him through it.

Or maybe he didn't even go to Natasha about this, and Steve was the first one he’d sought out for comfort.

“Even if you caused it, I don’t think it necessarily was your fault.” There was a moment of hesitation before Steve pressed his palm over Djenya’s shoulder. The metal was cold against his hand, but it felt safer than trying to touch him anywhere else right now.

For what it was worth, Djenya didn't seem to react to it. Steve actually wasn’t sure if he could feel anything, or if that arm was just sensationless.

He also wasn’t sure which was the more horrifying option, when he’d seen asphalt tear up beneath his fingertips.

“I don’t think that’s all that helpful.” There was something almost rueful in Djenya’s tone. While it wasn’t quite pain or grief, Steve was so certain that was brewing under the surface as well. “Still my hands that did it. I still got the memories, if that’s what’s starting to come back.” He picked up his head just enough to meet Steve’s eyes, shrugging off his hand in the process. “I don’t even know what to do about it, Stevie.”

There was a second that Steve was so sure his heart stopped, breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t been called Stevie in… Christ, no one since Bucky. The Howling Commandos had stopped calling him that shortly after he fell, and he was grateful for that, but…

He couldn’t think about that. This wasn’t about him, and he could already feel Sam sighing heavily at him before he could even tell him about this.

It definitely wasn’t going to be helpful to keep associating Djenya and Bucky. Especially over a ridiculous nickname that he hadn’t heard in decades.

Even if, to him, it had only been a few years.

He probably shouldn’t settle his palm on the back of Djenya’s neck, but Steve couldn’t quite stop himself from doing that either. Whether it was the early hour, or just having someone so upset this close to him, he just couldn’t  _ not _ touch him.

“It’s over now, at least. Whatever they did, whatever they had you do… It won’t happen again.”

Steve knew he couldn’t actually promise that. Especially considering that Nat wanted him to be part of the Avengers where he would almost certainly  _ have _ to do something like that again. But if they could put special restrictions on bringing him in, just like they did with Bruce, then maybe…

Djenya’s huff of laughter was almost inaudible, though at least he didn't try to shrug Steve off again. “Don’t say things like that if you can’t guarantee them.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and while Steve highly doubted that Djenya was anywhere close to sleep, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything further. It was easier, in his mind, just to let it be and wait until morning.

It was easier to watch the sweet, tentative way that he slowly loosened up from the tight ball he was in, and slowly migrated more into Steve’s chest.

He fit perfectly there.

* * *

“You look more settled.”

Djenya looked up from the nest he was moving away from the door and more towards one of the back rooms. He wasn’t quite ready to put it  _ in  _ one of the rooms on the floor, but it seemed more ‘normal’ than where it had previously been.

It wasn’t that he expected anyone to say anything about it, but he’d noticed that Tony had shot concerned glances at it more than once. 

“Is there a question to go along with that?” Djenya asked as he readjusted a few of the blankets. He wasn’t entirely sure what was wrong with them before, but it felt important that they be  _ just so _ .

She held up his discarded mask, as if that was some sort of accusation. A very soft, nonthreatening one that he was pretty sure held no weight, but it was there all the same. “You’ve been wearing this around the rest of the team, correct?”

A small frown tugged at his lips as he deliberately looked away from her. Now, maybe, he understood why she had made such a show about not watching him and puttering around the floor in the beginning. It was just as much to keep himself occupied as it was to act unaffected. “You ordered me to. I’ve been wearing it, but I don’t understand why it’s important.”

After all, no one else on the team wore a mask around the Tower. He wasn’t even sure if they all wore masks on the field, for that matter. His handlers usually hadn’t. It had often just been him who had their face completely obscured.

There was something almost sad in her smile and she set the mask on the counter with a pointed little click. “You’ll understand soon enough. If it helps, it’s not going to be forever. I just need you to keep doing this for now.”

Somehow that wasn’t particularly comforting, but at least it was better than how HYDRA had treated him.

Granted, he was starting to get the sense that that was an incredibly low bar. And he certainly wasn’t about to ignore the fact that she had left him strapped to a table for several days. It was just less horrible than being strapped to the chair.

A few moments passed before Natasha spoke again. “Are you remembering anything else?”

That got his hands to pause, pressed on top of one of the few pillows he had. It always felt dangerous to admit to that sort of thing. He wasn’t  _ supposed _ to remember, and he wasn’t sure why she kept prompting him to.

Not that he told her everything. There were a few tentative things that felt too personal to share with her. Or with anyone, for that matter. And almost every single thing that he kept to himself either felt exceptionally old, or involved Steve. The two usually overlapped.

If she ever found out, Djenya just planned on saying that he didn't believe they were memories. Just odd dreams.

But at the same time, there was one that fell under both categories that bothered him. And he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, since the same number came up later on, but not while he was in the Red Room. After that, he thought. “What’s 3255703856898?”

For once, Natasha didn't say anything, but it seemed like now it was because she didn't have the answer, rather than her trying to keep it from him.

Djenya wasn’t sure why he got a sense of satisfaction from that, but it also awakened a small measure of dread. She was supposed to know everything about him. The fact that there were things that even she wasn’t sure of…

There was a moment she seemed torn before she actually spoke. “I don’t know. There were a few different numbers associated with you under the Red Room, but that’s not one I’m familiar with. It might be one of HYDRA’s.”

Maybe it was really as simple as that, though. Abstractly, he was aware that he’d gone back and forth between the two programs, and it would make sense for there to be gaps in her knowledge when he was under HYDRA.

It still wasn’t reassuring that he wasn’t going to be able to get the full picture from her, but maybe he should have realized that before now.

But then, he  _ also  _ knew there were things that she was either directly hiding from him or was at least deliberately not bringing up. Tony had let it slip when he had first seen him without the mask, and it had never been mentioned again.

Djenya wasn’t sure if he was ready to know that, however. As much as things were pointing to the fact that it might have been true at one point or another.

“I know I shot you. But I don’t know if it was before you left Red Room, or after.”

At least that seemed to remove some of the tension from the air as she nodded and pressed her palm over her side. Except it wasn’t the side he shot her through, but he wasn’t sure if it was a test or if she just didn't want to touch it.

“Other side,” he said, deciding that if it  _ was _ a test, he didn't want to fail it.

That earned him a good measure of approval, given the curl to her lips. “Neither of us were with the Red Room at that point. But I don’t think it would be fair of me to blame you, when I would have done the exact same thing were the situation reversed.”

It probably wasn’t supposed to be reassuring to hear that she would shoot him. But if anything, it really just confirmed what he already thought: that she may care enough to try and help him here, but she also would put her line of work ahead of that.

Maybe it was the Red Room training, because that seemed to be something they had in common.

“Tell me what else,” she prompted after nearly a minute of silence.

Djenya tried not to grimace, but worked to pull another non-Steve related thing that had tentatively started to come back to him.

* * *

The next time Djenya tried to visit Steve, JARVIS was quick to inform him that Steve was ‘indisposed and not seeing visitors’.

Which made sense. It was about eleven at night and by all accounts Djenya should have expected him to be unavailable. Not to mention that Steve had been getting more and more antsy, almost but not quite avoiding Djenya as well as Tony for the last several days.

And the only reason he knew that Steve was ‘avoiding’ Tony was because Tony complained about it a time or two while checking his shoulder for damage, since the arm was supposedly ready to be put on within the next few days.

He’d hoped, though. The last time he’d managed to get a decent night’s sleep was when he was curled up in Steve’s arms, even if he couldn’t quite figure out why that felt so much like home.

“Can you let me know when he’s available again?” he asked, hoping he didn't sound as pathetic as he felt. He wasn’t used to asking for company. He wasn’t used to  _ wanting _ company either, but Tony’s visits were becoming infrequent and Natasha was the only other person who would come sit with him, even if he was on the communal floor.

Well. Steve would too. That wasn’t the point here, though.

Neither of those facts negated the real reason he wanted to seek Steve out as often as he did, but  _ that _ was more embarrassing, to the point where he didn't even want to admit it to himself.

“Of course, Sergeant.”

Djenya frowned a bit, looking up at the ceiling in spite of the fact that he knew that JARVIS didn't have a face to look to. “Why do you call me that?”

In spite of the fact that JARVIS was an AI and didn't need actual time to pause and process things like that, it felt like there was hesitation before he answered. “I am not at liberty to explain. Apologies, Sergeant.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed at that right now. If it wasn’t allowed, that meant either Tony or Natasha knew and had ordered him not to say.

Djenya wasn’t entirely sure which option was worse, but he tried not to dwell on it as he pulled a few of the blankets over his head.

He doubted he’d actually be able to sleep. And even if he could, he was almost positive that nightmares would wake him up in short order. It felt like he should try regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at that, a final chapter count. It's a rough estimate, because I know what I need to do to wrap it up, but I've only written up to about chapter 13 right now, so I'm estimating it'll need around 5 more after that. I'll be sure to let you know when the number is concrete
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and I greatly appreciate all your comments and kudos <3 Positive reinforcement is how ~90% of my work gets done to begin with


	8. Chapter 8

It took three days until Steve was pretty sure his rut had exhausted itself, and he wasn’t sure which part of the ordeal was the worst.

The ache and aggression were fairly standard for him. Neither of those things really bothered him, nor did the fact that he had spent most of the time jerking off. The fact that he'd nearly chafed something towards the end was all sorts of awful, but also fairly typical for him.

Steve could still feel the remnants of it itching under his skin, but he could exist around it now instead of being consumed entirely. He could think clearly, which was both a blessing and a curse.

Now he could clearly see where he'd gouged out sections of the door frame, and that he was going to need a new mattress after tearing his.  _ And _ there had been some sort of amalgamation of Bucky and Djenya in his head almost the entire time.

Unfortunately, he was now self aware enough to be embarrassed by all of that to the point where it was hard to convince himself to leave his bed.

Thankfully, only two of those three things would ever become known to anyone else, though he was pretty sure he could convince JARVIS not to tell Tony that he was ordering a new bed. If he was exceptionally lucky, he could even figure out how to cover up his terrible ‘escape’ attempts before anyone else came to his floor.

In spite of how exhausted he felt, he’d gotten himself in the shower to wash away the worst of the stench, trying not to moan obscenely at just how good the hot water felt on his sore muscles.

Of course, that meant JARVIS had to pick then to interrupt him.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant has asked that I let him know when you are able to provide company.”

Any relief he’d started to feel dissipated almost instantly.

Steve may well die of mortification if he had to see Djenya right now. Or anyone, for that matter. “Is there a reason you call him that?” he asked, hoping to at least delay him a bit before admitting that he was nowhere near prepared to be around people. Especially Djenya, after he’d imagined just how much his back could arch and if his skin would mark up well, or if Steve would have to work for it. If he’d taste the same way Bucky had, or how vocal he would be.

Rut brain was awful.

“I’m not at liberty to say, however Sir might have a better answer for you.”

While Steve was surprised, it was really only because there was some sort of safeguard around that information. It made sense for Tony to know, since Tony was probably the one to designate the moniker to begin with.

“Is something wrong with him?” he tried again, sure that, even if it didn't buy him a lot of time, it would help Steve gauge just how long he could put it off.

“While Sergeant seems to be on edge, there is nothing immediately wrong. However, I think it would be prudent for you to see him as soon as you are able.”

That was probably one of the worst answers he could have gotten. Steve pressed his forehead against the cool tiles, taking a slow breath as if the steam would help cleanse away those particular thoughts that he’d spent the last several days entertaining. It wasn’t going to work. He knew that even before he tried. “Give me an hour or two to clean up, and I’ll go down to see him.”

“Very good, Captain Rogers.”

He wasn’t sure if it was JARVIS who had bad timing, or if it was Djenya. Steve was inclined to believe it was JARVIS, since it seemed like Djenya had asked a while ago and only now was it being passed along.

Which made sense. Steve would have definitely not been able to properly respond to that kind of thing two days ago. Sure he would have let Djenya in, but he would have been absolutely no help.

In spite of how much he would have liked to spend his day lingering in the shower and maybe try to patch up the worst of the damage, that just wasn’t going to happen. While it irked him, it wasn’t enough to get him to actually ignore Djenya’s query.

He did at least make sure he got the worst of the smell off of himself, as well as eating a proper meal and started to air out the space before venturing down to Djenya’s floor.

Belatedly realizing that he didn't ask  _ where _ the other was, so for all Steve knew he was down sparring with Thor again.

Steve wasn’t even sure if Thor was in the Tower or not, honestly.

“JARVIS, is--”

His question was cut off by the door opening, Natasha eyeing Steve speculatively.

And that was really something that he didn't know what to deal with. Abstractly, he knew that Natasha spent a good chunk of time with Djenya. He hadn’t anticipated her being on his floor right now.

“Tony’s fitting a temporary arm on him tomorrow. Djenya wanted to hold off until you were available for some reason.”

“A temporary arm,” he repeated, not entirely sure to even start with that statement. While he knew that Tony was working on one, he figured that he would make it permanent, sans whatever upgrades he decided to do in the future.

And the fact that it had been ready, possibly for days, but Djenya had wanted to wait until he was around? It made his heart flutter a little uncomfortably. “JARVIS said he was asking for me and that it was ‘prudent I come down sooner rather than later’.”

There was a small measure of concern in her brow, which automatically worried him. Had he missed something major? Was he hurt? Remembering more things in the form of nightmares?

Before he could pick which one to ask first, Natasha was gently being urged aside without Djenya even laying a hand on her.

By all accounts, he looked fine. Not exhausted, or stressed, or like there was any reason for Steve to hurry down here.

If he thought JARVIS was capable of having his own agenda, he’d suspect that there was a reason he was always being told to hurry whenever Djenya asked for him.

“I really just wanted to make sure you were all right. There wasn’t any rush.” He shrugged a little self deprecating, eyes averting. “You can come in if you want? We’re just… working through what I remember.”

Before Steve could answer, though he wasn’t even sure  _ how _ he was going to answer, he caught Natasha’s eye. And it was very obvious that she did not want Steve to be in the room while they went over what Djenya remembered.

Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it either, if he was honest.

It wasn’t that he didn't want to help and support Djenya. While Steve had seen more terrible things than any one person should, he wasn’t sure how well he’d handle listening to someone else recount the horrors that they had seen.

He’d seen and looted from dead bodies. Seen the faces of frightened civilians while buildings crumbled around them. Hell, he’d even looked a man in the eye while the life drained out of him into the snow.

But Steve had enough of his own nightmares that he was living with. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted Djenya’s past to add to them.

The problem was, he didn't know how to set aside his own feelings on the matter when it came to him. He knew full well that if Djenya asked him to, Steve would listen. “Do you want me to? Because I can come back later if that’s better.”

“It would probably be best if you came back later,” Natasha said before Djenya could answer.

There was a tense moment, and while it wasn’t  _ quite _ a pair of Alphas posturing over an Omega, it felt pretty damn close to that. Embarrassingly enough, on Steve’s part. He’d hoped he was past that part of his cycle, but apparently not.

Steve blinked first, rocking back on his heels. While he wasn’t entirely sure why Natasha was acting almost territorial over Djenya, he had a few guesses. And none of them actually had anything to do with Djenya himself.

“I’ll probably be up in my room when you’re done,” he said, making a point to look directly at Djenya when he spoke. “I don’t know if JARVIS mentioned, but you’re pretty much free to come and go as you please, aside from certain circumstances.”

His brow pulled together a bit, but he did nod as he stepped further back into his room. “I’ll be by later, then.”

Steve wasn’t sure what kind of look Natasha was pinning him with as she shut the door, but it wasn’t overly friendly.

It wasn’t surprising to him. If they were talking about the parts of his past that Natasha could confirm or deny, then it meant they were getting into her past as well. And Steve had no illusions about her openness about that particular topic.

As he made his way up to his room, he made a list of things that absolutely needed to be done before Djenya came up to his floor. He needed to try and get the scent out, put his bedding in the wash, and while he could probably hide the torn mattress, he wouldn’t have much luck hiding away the claw marks around the door.

In the few moments he saw Djenya’s space, however, he noticed one thing. The small pile of blankets by the door wasn’t there anymore. Steve just wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he hoped it was good. Hoped that meant he had settled into a room.

* * *

Djenya had no doubts that Natasha was acting almost aggressive in regards to Steve, which made absolutely no sense when she was the one who had insisted that the two of them would get along to begin with. When she had practically encouraged him to seek Steve out, on multiple occasions.

As soon as the door closed, he pinned her with a considering look even as he worked the straps of the mask loose once again. He’d gotten in the habit of taking it off whenever he could, which made it all the more frustrating when he had to put it back on.

“Why?” he asked, knowing full well that she’d know what it was he meant.

She didn't do more than shrug, stepping back towards the window once JARVIS confirmed that Steve was back on his own floor. “It’s just as much my past as it is yours, Djenya. And I’m not ready for him to hear about it yet.”

He shouldn’t fault her for that. But they weren’t recounting something they had lived through together when Steve finally made his appearance.

After two days, he’d realized that Steve’s absence had been due to him most likely being in rut, and while he didn't ask for him again he assumed JARVIS wouldn’t pass along his initial request either. Apparently he’d been wrong.

She didn't seem to pay his silence any mind, seeing as she simply resettled herself on the counter. “Go on. Not from Russia, then?”

Djenya grimaced, knowing full well that he probably wasn’t going to be able to get any concrete answers out of her.

“I think… A few handlers called me ‘the American’.” He paused, unsure for a moment. He couldn’t think of where in America he might be  _ from _ , but he remembered the moniker. Granted, he didn't remember any of the handlers referring to him as Djenya, but Natasha had. He recalled that much.

Privately, he wondered if that was why JARVIS referred to him as Sergeant. If he’d been in the American military at some point, but JARVIS wasn’t allowed to tell him for some reason.

A small, sad smile touched her lips though the rest of her expression stayed fairly neutral. He was starting to understand that it had been part of her training that had stayed with her, even though he suspected that it had been decades since she had left.

He wasn’t sure if he did the same thing or not.

“Where do you think you might have been from, if you think you’re really American?”

It seemed odd for her to ask it like that. ‘If he thought he was really American’. Normally, she would take his recountings as fact, or tell him that he was wrong. There wasn’t a lot of that ‘if you really think that’ going on.

Sure, she would sometimes test him, but not outright question him like that. And she’d even, begrudgingly, admit when she didn't know something.

“I don’t know. But I think that would be a weird thing for them to make up, and it would explain why JARVIS calls me Sergeant.”

He froze, instantly regretting saying as much. He didn't know  _ why _ it felt important to keep that sort of thing to himself, but it did and now he’d gone and put it out there in the open.

He’d fucked up. He’d massively fucked up, and he didn't know what she was going to do to him for it. His stomach and throat tightened, though he tried his best to make sure none of that showed on his face. She was always determined to not show weakness. He had to do the same here, if they were going to be anywhere close to even ground.

Natasha seemed to be shocked into stillness as well, and he wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. Neither of them made any movement to comment on that, and it felt like entire minutes ticked by before Natasha forced her shoulders to loosen.

“JARVIS, how long have you been calling him Sergeant?” she asked, though her eyes were firmly trained on Djenya.

“Sir instructed me to simply refer to him by his rank shortly after his arrival, to preserve the integrity of your plan.”

That was more than enough to set off all manner of alarm bells, the knot in his guts tightening until he worried he might actually be sick. There was a plan involving him that he didn't know about.

While that was common in HYDRA, he thought that at least they were vaguely upfront with him here. They were going to fix his arm, his head, then likely start sending him on missions alongside their team.

And now apparently he had a rank that he hadn’t known about--and almost certainly a whole different identity to go along with it--but Tony and likely Natasha had been aware and never brought it up?

Did Steve know?

It shouldn’t have come as much of a shock as it did. He’d known that someone knew about why JARVIS referred to him as Sergeant. Known it had been blocked off from him by someone, and he’d suspected Tony was the one who had put it in place.

The thing that made it worse was how badly Natasha was taking it, in spite of her face remaining fairly neutral. There was a clear sense of panic pervading her scent that was far more telling. Sharpening it, making it more pungent at the same time.

Her gaze lowered after a moment, hands loosening though it looked like that took more effort than dropping her shoulders had. “Thank you, JARVIS.” She swallowed thickly, taking several seconds to compose herself before turning her back to Djenya. “I don’t think it would be fair for anyone, JARVIS included, to tell you things about yourself that you don’t remember yet. I don’t want you to deal with anyone’s expectations of who you should be.”

Djenya wasn’t sure if that explanation made things better or worse. “Is Djenya even really my name?” he asked, having to look away from her. He felt a little faint, like the ground wasn’t entirely steady under his feet. It had been weeks since he had settled himself into being Djenya, and the moniker was starting to feel like home, but if it was a lie…

“That’s what I really called you in the Red Room. No one else referred to you by any sort of actual name, so I gave you one.”

It wasn’t a good answer. He recognized that she was being honest about that much, but still… “You know what my actual name is, now.”

While he hadn’t said it as a question, the way Natasha’s scent gained more notes of distress was enough of an answer for him.

Djenya forced himself to take a slow breath as he stepped back towards the door, trying to ignore how shaky he felt in the process. “I’m going to go spend some time with Steve. If you decide you want to tell me, I’d appreciate it. But I don’t think I want to continue this unless you’re going to be honest about who I am. None of this ‘maybe it’s true, maybe it isn’t’ when you know the answer.”

That feeling of unsteadiness only grew stronger the longer he spoke. It was the closest thing to a demand that he had probably made in decades. And it was a demand to the person who was ostensibly in charge of him, on top of all that.

This was why he’d kept so much quiet. Things like ‘Buck’, or how someone used to call him a mother hen. Someone who looked suspiciously like Steve, but who was only about a third his size with the most delicate fucking cheekbones.

It wasn’t fear churning in him. Or, he kept telling himself that he wasn’t afraid of her response, when she hadn’t been outright cruel to him since moving him to this room.

Thankfully, instead of trying to retaliate, or outright lying to him, she just repeated the only order she had issued to him. “The mask stays on in front of everyone who isn’t Tony or myself.”

In spite of it being a more favorable outcome, it still grated on him. Maybe more so now because he understood why that order had been given to him.

People in this Tower knew who he was, and Natasha didn't want them to tell Djenya who that may be.

If he had to guess, he would say the person was Steve. Unless he was in on it as well, which he wasn’t entirely prepared to rule out. But it would make sense, with how Natasha had tried to push them together, only to now pull them apart when things started to come back to him.

With what Tony had said when he had first arrived.

The mask dug into the bridge of his nose as he fastened it a little too tightly in his haste to get out the door.

“JARVIS, take me up to Steve’s floor,” he said, watching the elevators open well in advance of his arrival.

“Of course, Sergeant.”

It had struck him as odd before. Now it almost scared him to think about, and that was a hell of a thing. He’d been the fist of HYDRA. Nothing was supposed to scare him. He probably wasn’t supposed to feel at all, and yet here he was. Anxious over his old trainee hiding something from him.

It was almost pathetic.

When the door to Steve’s floor opened, he nearly walked right into Steve, who had apparently not been warned and had been fiddling with the--

“You could have asked me to come by later if you were still cleaning things up,” he said mildly in spite of the fact that something about seeing the gouged out wood tightened something in his guts.

It wasn’t a bad feeling like it had been not even a minute ago, and Djenya wasn’t entirely sure  _ what _ it was about the nearly feral display that got his blood racing.

Steve’s cheeks went bright red, mortified, and for some reason Djenya just knew that the blush could go all the way down his chest.

The problem was he had no idea why he knew that. But it really just solidified his belief that Steve was the one who knew who he actually was.

He just wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information. He didn't know what Natasha would do if he took off the mask to ask, or if he tried to prod further.

But he couldn’t keep ignoring it. He’d known for a long time that something was going on here, and it was getting to the point where it was too obvious to overlook.

There was that too-familiar furrow between Steve’s brow as he looked Djenya up and down, more thoughtful than probing. As if he already suspected what it was that was wrong here but didn't know how to address it.

“Apparently Djenya  _ isn’t _ my name,” he said, if only to break the silence. “But Natasha won’t tell me what it actually is because she doesn’t want to pressure me to be someone I was in the past.”

If Steve had actually been expecting anything, it was obviously not that. The tub of wood filler in his hands was dropped to the floor, immediately making a mess of both of them, on top of the bland, grey carpet that seemed to inhabit most of the rooms that weren’t communal.

Or. It was standard in his, Steve’s, and Natasha’s room. He assumed that was what the rest of them had as well.

“Do you know that she knows? I’m not sure if her memory of the Red Room is all that clear…”

“They didn't use the chair in the Red Room.”

Steve blinked once, not any less confused than he was a second ago. “The chair?”

Djenya forced himself to stop, to breathe, to look away from Steve for a moment to collect himself. This wasn’t helping. This was honestly doing the opposite of helping. He shouldn’t pry because if Natasha found out, it probably wouldn’t end very well for him. She changed sides how it suited her; he had no doubt she was capable of turning on him if he didn't suit her purposes anymore.

And now he was even less sure what his purpose even  _ was _ .

So he made himself calm down, at least to the point where Steve’s shoulders were no longer bunched up around his ears, before he tried to figure out how to continue.

“The chair to make people forget. HYDRA liked to use it. The Red Room may have had other methods I don’t remember or never knew about, but I don’t think it’s a matter of her simply forgetting. She’s trying to hide it from me.”

Silence hung heavily over the room. It seemed to take entirely too long before Steve sunk to his knees to at least set the small tub upright. “Ok. Start from the beginning. Maybe we can work it out that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, it's the imminent arrival of the long-foreseen disaster. That's going to be great
> 
> Sorry if this is a little choppier than normal. I lost a couple editing days do to unexpectedly getting a tooth pulled. So that was fun
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone reading, and for the comments, kudos, etc. You're all great people <3


	9. Chapter 9

Natasha didn't like to go down to Tony’s labs unless she had to. It wasn’t that she was adverse to anything down there, or that it made her uncomfortable, but she knew that was primarily Tony’s territory of sorts, and she didn't need to encroach on it.

However this was borderline desperate times, so she was making an exception.

It seemed that JARVIS had warned him of her arrival, since Bruce was there to head her off.

“The arm is fine, Nat. He’s ready to put the new one on when Djenya’s ready to have it,” he said, borderline placating. “He’s also in the middle of some welding, so you’re going to have to wait for a few minutes.”

In spite of his conciliatory tone, she could still see the hardness in his eyes. Clearly he still wasn’t happy with her, but she was pretty sure Bruce had never been actually comfortable with her to begin with.

The feeling was more or less mutual.

It was easy to match both his tone and demeanor, in spite of the fact that it didn't feel like they had time for niceties. “I’m just here to warn him that things are about to get messy and that he should prepare himself for it.”

Bruce’s jaw clenched, but there was hesitation as he glanced into the depths of the lab where Tony was surely working. “You know where I stand on the matter. I don’t like this, and I didn't like it from the start. It’s put him under a lot of stress.”

Natasha had a hard time keeping the irritation off of her face. Everyone walked around acting as if it was only stressful for  _ them  _ to keep this under wraps, as if she wasn’t the one who had to carry most of the weight of this. As if everyone wasn’t bursting into her floor demanding answers at all hours, demanding that she rationalize herself for them.

There was a reason she’d made a point not to bring Clint in on this any further than she absolutely needed to. She was just grateful that he trusted her judgment, regardless of his own frustrations.

While Bruce said a few minutes, it didn't seem to take more than thirty seconds for Tony to join them, welding mask held loosely in his hand. Soot was streaked across his cheek, and there was definitely something bitter in his scent. Something akin to anxiety that seemed to bubble up in him from time to time. She was uncomfortably familiar with that smell, and how it brought back the memory of being Natalie Rushman. Of watching him nearly die from the reactor that was (thankfully) no longer embedded in his chest.

“Is he remembering something? Because I thought half of the reason we were doing this was so that when he remembered, the rest of us would be off the hook.”

Natasha tried not to glare at Tony, even though this was at least partially his fault. “No. He wanted to know why your AI called him ‘Sergeant’, and since I was in the room JARVIS informed both of us that you had instructed him to, and why.”

It was abridged. And definitely left out her part in it. But it was pretty damn close to the truth and she was pretty sure that this could have been avoided if Tony had just… If he’d just done something different.

The fact that there wasn’t even a hint of surprise on Bruce’s face just increased her ire. Who else knew about this before she did?

“He needed a name,” Tony muttered, throwing her words back at her a little spitefully.

Sometimes, she wished she could have avoided telling anyone about this. Natasha was sure the resentment the two of them felt was going to linger for years to come, as if they thought she had an easy time with any of this.

That was the price of a good poker face, she supposed. A good poker face and her refusal to show even a hint of weakness to them. They were a team. But they were a long way from pack, to her.

“I’m just here to warn you. Because he immediately went up to Steve, and I know he’s remembering things before my time. It’s not going to be long before they both find out, and at least one of them knows that we’re hiding things about who he is.”

That bitter scent of anxiety only spiked further, prompting Bruce to subtly angle himself between the two of them. As if Bruce thought she was some sort of threat to Tony.

She couldn’t even blame him for that when she’d deliberately played into that when he found out. That didn't make it sting any less.

“Ok. So they’re going to find out. We knew this day was coming.” Bruce glanced between the two of them, likely trying to gauge the tensions in the room. “When it comes to a head, it comes to the head. And we should probably be honest about the whole thing, because I don’t think we’re all going to be able to keep our mouths shut if Steve comes to us directly.”

That got Tony a pointed look, which at least somewhat surprised Natasha. Of course he’d been the first to tell Steve that Barnes was even  _ here _ to begin with, but she didn't think Bruce had known that. And even if he did, she assumed that all the blame would go to her regardless, since she had been the one trying to keep it quiet to begin with.

But then. It was because of Tony that Bruce got involved to begin with, so maybe that was the part what frustrated him.

“Do you want him to kill us? Because that’s going to lead to him strangling us all with his bare hands, and I don’t think I’m into that.”

That got both Bruce and Natasha to scoff, only to look a little sheepishly at each other.

“He looks at you wrong and you crumble, Tones. It’s sweet, but I know you better than to think that you’re going to lie to his face about this.”

There was an annoyed huff from Tony, but at least he didn't try to argue. Probably because he knew Bruce was right.

Natasha tried not to rub her temple in frustration. This wasn’t what she had planned. She hadn’t accounted for Tony’s AI giving them away, and in retrospect that had been her mistake. Bruce, however, was right. All they could do was wait and see what happened.

* * *

They sort of relocated. At the very least, he’d gotten Djenya out of the door frame where neither of them could look at what he’d done. Though Steve had tried, unsuccessfully, to get Djenya to sit down on one of the chairs, even settling himself on the couch as if he could lead by example, but Djenya just continued to pace a haphazard circuit around the room.

It was getting a little dizzying to watch him, if he was being honest. There was something in Djenya’s pacing that made it look almost like stalking, though far too quick to look even remotely deliberate. It just looked brutally efficient, which felt odd when combined with the Omega scent he radiated.

“So you think that Tony also knows what your actual name is, but he doesn’t want you to know what it is,” he said, more or less repeating what Djenya had just said.

Even though apparently his name wasn’t  _ actually _ Djenya, and apparently he had been lied to, which was really scummy in Steve’s opinion. Bad enough that he had been under HYDRA’s control for an indeterminate amount of time, but then he gets free of them and he  _ still _ isn’t allowed his identity back?

“JARVIS said that he’d been instructed by ‘sir’ to use my rank only.” The mask had been loosened a bit, almost like it had been during his last bout of withdrawals but not to the point where it was halfway down the bridge of his nose. Not yet, at least.

His bitterness was apparent even if Steve couldn’t see the set of his mouth.

“That doesn’t mean that Tony knows.” Even to his own ears, it sounded weak. If Tony knew Djenya was a Sergeant, he almost definitely knew that there was a name attached to the rank. And even if he hadn’t known initially, he doubted Tony would have a hard time tracking it down. The fact that he was trying to conceal it was worrying.

Steve liked this whole thing less now than he had to begin with, but for a whole different set of reasons.

His unhelpfully nostalgic mind reminded him that Bucky was  _ also _ a Sergeant. And that Bucky was an Omega who smelled like sea salt, and had dark hair with grey eyes.

A lot of people met all of those attributes. None of that was exclusive to Bucky, even if there was a lot of overlap.

Djenya scoffed, pushing his hair back. “He called me your ‘long dead best friend’ when he thought I couldn’t hear him. Of course he knows who I am.”

Everything froze. Steve was pretty sure something in him turned to ice as time seemed to stop for him to process that. Regardless of the fact that he had just needed to remind himself that it  _ wasn’t _ Bucky, the fact that he could be just seemed impossible.

He wasn’t even sure where to  _ start _ , unable to accept that even though he’d been trying to tell himself that it couldn’t be him from the start, with limited degrees of success.

Considering it as some sort of reality just made it seem so much more far fetched. Bucky was dead. Had been for over half a century now, before Steve put himself into the ocean.

It didn't seem like Djenya knew what to say either, given how he’d paused very nearly mid-step, an almost green cast to his skin. The scent of fear curling in the air.

His throat felt dry as he swallowed, hands trembling a bit as they clenched by his sides. “Take off the mask.”

That got an ugly laugh, Djenya settling back on his heels as he looked at anything but Steve. Too much like Bucky after Azzano, when Steve had halfheartedly tried to talk him out of staying. “I can’t do that.” He said it as if it was an obvious sort of fact. Like Steve ought to know that he couldn’t take it off.

“Why not?”

Steve wasn’t sure if it mattered, honestly. If Tony had said that…

But how would Tony know? It wasn’t like there were a lot of pictures of Bucky floating around out there. A few linked to the Howling Commandos, sure, and Steve was pretty sure at least some of his sketches of Bucky were out in the world somewhere, but there wasn’t any reason for Tony to know what he looked like.

It wasn’t as if Tony had cared for him at all before they met in person. Or even several months  _ after _ they met in person.

There was a very real chance that Tony was mistaken. Maybe Djenya misheard or misunderstood. And maybe Steve just needed to see that so he knew for sure, and then he could stop associating Djenya, or whatever his name actually was, with Bucky.

Djenya pointedly kept his eyes trained on the door just over Steve’s shoulder. The linen closet, if Steve plotted it out right. Nothing that would actually hold his attention unless he was just trying to avoid Steve’s gaze. “Natasha ordered me not to. I can’t… I can’t go against that.”

Steve’s jaw hurt from how tightly it was clenched, and it took concentrated effort to try and relax. Of course she had. That made sense, especially if  _ she  _ knew who he was and was trying to conceal it.

Now, he wished he’d put up a bigger fight over this whole thing from the start. Why had he just complacently gone along with all of this?

Right, because she’d done the same thing personally. It had made sense to trust her instincts on this.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked, rather than vocalize  _ any _ of that. Because it had to be fear on his part. It couldn’t be anything else that was giving his scent that sharp, burned metal tang that got Steve’s nerves up even higher.

And it seemed to be both the right and wrong thing to ask, given how his eyes hardened. Reminding him so much of both Bucky and Natasha in that split second. “Aside from the fact that she already gleefully strapped me down to a table once? I don’t know a lot,  _ Steve _ , but I know enough to be reasonably anxious over breaking direct orders from the person who is probably in charge of me.”

It was hard not to wince, to shy away,as regret pooled heavy in his stomach. Of course it would be something along those lines. The fact that apparently Nat had strapped him to a table was something he’d have to bring up with her once this particular dust settled, but for now…

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” He softened his voice this time, trying a different tactic. Making demands wasn’t going to help anyone right now, and he almost hated that he had almost become that kind of person for a moment. Especially to Djenya. “If she tries, she’ll have to go through me first. And I’m more in charge of the team than she is.” Not that he automatically had any jurisdiction over what any of them did. Not that he wanted to have any jurisdiction over what the team did to begin with, outside the field.

There was obvious hesitation in spite of how Djenya had all but come storming up here not even a half hour before.

It was bad form, really, what Steve was trying to do. To try and coax someone, especially an Omega, into doing anything. Even if he was just trying to help, he couldn’t deny that he had some selfish motives for doing this.

“You want to know, or you wouldn’t be so upset about it.”

Even from here, he could hear Djenya’s throat work as he swallowed, finally coming closer before his knees easily folded, settling himself before Steve’s feet. 

It was definitely the remnants of his rut brain that started helpfully reminding him of all the things he’d spent the last three days imagining. Reminding him of how he’d almost been able to feel Djenya’s breath while he’d scent-marked him during his withdrawals. Or how he’d fantasized about unfastening the mask to press his mouth to the sensitive glands beneath his jaw. Guiding him forward to--

He cut off that line of thought immediately, cheeks burning hot enough that he couldn’t even hope that Djenya wouldn’t notice.

For several seconds, it seemed like neither of them dared to so much as breathe, Djenya’s storm colored gaze still not focusing on Steve.

“If you do it, then I’m technically not the one breaking her rules.”

Steve was almost certain his heart stopped for a brief second there, for a whole host of reasons.

This was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t have tried to push for this, but at the same time he needed to know.  _ Djenya  _ needed to know. It wasn’t something they could just ignore, in spite of the fact that the team had attempted to do so.

That was something to deal with later.

He didn't ask if he was sure. Didn't give him a chance to back out either. Steve’s hands were steadier than he felt as they reached for the straps that had already loosened considerably since he arrived on Steve’s floor. It seemed like they had been fastened sloppily.

It wasn’t complicated, by the feel of it. But there were a myriad of straps keeping the mask on, which explained why it hadn’t come off either time they had fought. There was a lot of interconnection for Steve to sort through, but he had a vague idea of how they fastened from the last time he’d touched them.

As the straps loosened, Steve’s throat tightened, anxiety between the two of them rising with every inch of Djenya’s face that was revealed.

Somehow it managed to feel like it was taking too long and happening too quick, but finally the last strap was unhooked, and Steve was holding the black mask in his palms.

In spite of the fact that he’d suspected, hoped for, damn near  _ prayed _ for it, Steve wasn’t entirely sure what to think when Bucky Barnes looked up at him.

It wasn’t-- He didn't look the same. Cheekbones far sharper than they had been even during the war, a layer of stubble darkening the cleft of his chin, but it was still…

The mask hit the floor with a muffled ‘thump’. Bouncing slightly in the scant space between them, but neither of them seemed able to move, much less say anything.

Steve wasn’t sure if relief or nausea was stronger. On one hand, Bucky wasn’t dead. He was alive, and safe.

But that meant that Bucky had survived falling off the train. He had survived, been captured, and brainwashed over the last seventy years.

It meant that Steve had failed him worse than he’d originally thought, and there was a split second where Steve was so sure he was about to be sick.

“Bucky?” he asked shakily, sure he was right but needing to question it. It was impossible, after all; it made no sense that--

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

That snapped Steve back into the moment abruptly, only now seeing the hard wall behind his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.

There was recognition there, though. But it wasn’t enough to wipe away the fear, and that  _ hurt _ . More so now than before, because that was a face he knew all too well, and the last time he’d seen it fully exposed… 

Without consciously thinking about it, Steve pressed his fingers to the hollows of Bucky’s cheeks and--Christ, it was really him. It was  _ really _ him, in the flesh.

He didn't know what to say. Didn't know where to start, and didn't know what to do with the fury that was slowly bubbling up in his stomach. 

Now, Natasha’s concern about ‘not making him into who she remembered’ took on an entirely new meaning, and Steve knew she had been aware from the start. There was a panicked moment where he thought about putting his hands around her throat, and that was terrifying in itself. The last time he’d felt that way about anyone was when he’d desperately been trying to get drunk after he’d failed to bring Bucky back to safety on the train.

Bucky leaned back, wary, like an animal trying to get out of a trap, and Steve was pretty sure his heart broke.

Whether or not Bucky was specifically afraid of  _ him _ , it was still written on his face.

“I… I need to go,” he said softly, rocking back onto his feet in a too-smooth motion.

Before he could even think of anything to say, hands still awkwardly outstretched, Bucky was gone, door slamming in his haste to get out of there.

There was a definite knot in his throat that he had to swallow around before he spoke. “JARVIS, can you tell the Avengers to gather in the communal floor immediately?”

“Of course, Captain. May I ask what this is about?”

Steve couldn’t quite look at the mask, starkly contrasted against the carpet and his own socked feet. “Yeah. It’s about Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -cue dramatic music-
> 
> I don't mean to keep leaving borderline-cliffhangers all the time these past few weeks. It just felt like that's how the flow needed to go, since I kind of write everything as a big block and divide into chapters later
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this. I really appreciate all you guys <3 Also, if you want to follow me anywhere, I just got a Pillowfort, like, last week using the same handle that I have here


	10. Chapter 10

Steve deliberately waited a minimum of twenty minutes before going downstairs to meet the rest of the team. Partly because he needed to get ahold of himself if he was going to confront them about this, but he’d be lying if he said he didn't want to let them stew in their own anxiety.

He almost regretted it when the elevator door opened and was hit with the full, burned metal scent of Tony’s particular brand of stress.

Nat looked deceptively calm, though the tightness around her eyes gave her away. By the looks of it, Bruce was trying to keep Tony from pacing a hole in the carpet between two of the chairs, while Clint was the only one who actually looked confused as to what was going on here.

Thor apparently wasn’t on Earth right now. Steve wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not.

The mask was in his hand; Natasha’s eyes seemed to zoom in on it instantly.

“Who all knew about this?” he asked lowly, holding it up as an accusation. The plastic audibly snapped in his grip, making him flinch internally. He hadn’t meant to hold it quite that tightly.

In spite of the fact that whoever had already known must have been aware that Steve found out just from his message through JARVIS, that burned metal scent spiked even further, earning him a sharp look from Bruce.

Clint, however, was the first one to speak. “Um, I’m pretty sure we all knew he was here, Cap. Even Thor knows Djenya’s around, and he’s only here a couple days a month at best.  _ You _ knew he was here, even. We had this talk months ago.”

Natasha settled onto the chair beside Clint, feigned boredom in her posture. “I kept Clint out of the loop. He doesn’t need to be here for this,” she said, not daring to look at anyone in the room. “And for that matter, I’m the one who told the rest of them to keep it quiet, so you can take it up with me.”

There was a look of betrayal on Clint’s face that Natasha refused to acknowledge.

She did, eventually, sigh as her gaze slid to the floor. “Go upstairs. I’ll explain to you privately.”

While there was obvious trepidation, Clint paused only long enough to squeeze her shoulder, eye the mask, and mutter about how he ‘hadn’t liked this plan from the start, what the fuck’.

Steve expected Tony to make a run for it, but he stayed firm. And he was pretty sure that was the only reason Bruce didn't leave the room, considering he had no qualms with avoiding conflict whenever possible. Hell, he’d immediately bolted last time something like this had happened.

Only then did Natasha let down her walls just enough for Steve to see that she was surprised by this as well. As if she expected everyone to cut and run the second she tried to take the responsibility on herself.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, further cracking audible from the mask as it continued to fracture in his hand. Even as he dropped it back down to his side. “You knew. All of you knew, and no one thought to say anything. To either of us.”

Just as surprising as Clint, Bruce was the one to offer an explanation first. “No one expected Barnes to find out like this. He was supposed to remember it on his own; there was supposed to be no harm done.”

Steve grit his teeth, trying not to yell that they shouldn’t have found out like this because someone should have  _ told _ them to begin with.

“You put a lot of pressure on people,” Tony added, standing his ground in spite of the fact that he looked like he would rather be literally anywhere else but here. “And you’re really good at martyring yourself for things, and no one wanted to see you do that here.”

His frustration was reaching a boiling point quicker than he anticipated, careening away unchecked to the point that it was starting to frighten him. He was pretty sure he hadn’t felt like this since before the serum, and it was a little sickening to feel it again. “You lied to him because you didn't want to ‘deal with me being a martyr’. He’s already unsteady, and you want to do  _ that _ to him?” As he spoke, his volume grew louder until he was nearly shouting in spite of his earlier intentions to keep his tone steady.

There was a brief second where he thought he saw a flash of green in Bruce’s eyes, but Steve couldn’t find it in him to back down, to soften his tone. To placate. If anything, it just made him want to push harder.

This whole thing was dangerous, and for some reason Steve couldn’t unsee the way Bruce stepped between himself and Tony. As if he thought Steve was going to hurt him, and that just made the sour pit in his stomach worse.

“Steve.”

Instantly, his focus went to Natasha who looked a little pale, but otherwise unwavering. Finally, her own gaze was on him, seeming to ignore the other two in the room. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I hadn’t anticipated him finding out through JARVIS or you. He was supposed to remember on his own because it would be less stressful for him. Mistakes were made, but I don’t think it’s fair to run around throwing a fit over something that really isn’t impacting your life.”

His jaw didn't loosen even the slightest bit, but at least some of Tony’s panic started to recede. Steve forced himself to breathe slow, to ‘be a rational punk for once’, in Bucky’s words.

Bucky.

Christ.

“The arm you were going to put on him,” he said, deliberately softer than his earlier tone. Needing to at least try and get them to listen, because Tony didn't follow Steve’s orders very well. Suggestions, though, often worked. “Bucky said you had a temporary one ready for him.”

“We have the real one prepared,” Bruce answered instead of Tony. “He didn't want to be alone when we attach it but when he’s ready, we’re ready.”

That didn't make sense. Steve distinctly remembered hearing that it wasn’t going to be the permanent one they were putting on him. And he remembered thinking how odd that was, given how Tony liked to work as if everything was permanent regardless of how often he went back to improve them anyways.

Now wasn’t really the time to ask about that.

“Can you guys maybe double check it? I’ll be ok to sit with him, if he still wants it.” It hurt to consider that maybe Bucky  _ wouldn’t _ want that, but he also knew that there was a lot going on to the point where Steve was struggling with it. And Steve wasn’t the one who’d had his identity hidden away from himself.

He was pretty sure there was a glance between both Bruce and Tony, neither of them seeming to move before Natasha spoke.

“Give us some space. Besides, we all knew that I was going to take the fall for this. It’s sweet of you guys to try to take a share of it, though.”

He was grateful that Bruce and Tony decided to take Natasha up on her near-order and left them alone. Tony still glancing back at them the entire time Bruce herded him away.

Once the elevator doors closed, Natasha sighed, seeming to deflate into the chair a bit. Not enough that Steve though that her guard was entirely dropped, but enough that he considered that maybe he was truly getting a glimpse at how tired she actually was.

“You fucked up,” he said, cutting right to the chase.

Her head fell back, eyes slipping shut as she breathed slow. “I’ll be lucky if he ever talks to me again, I know.” There was a brief pause where she wet her lips. “I’m surprised  _ you’re  _ talking to me. I was pretty sure you’d come right in and hit me.”

In spite of all his anger and frustration, the thought of that made him feel sick. He wouldn’t--

All right, there had been a brief second he’d considered it, but it had been discarded immediately with more than a little horror at himself. Whatever half-assed plan he had coming down here hadn’t included anything like that. Even the reminder brought back the bile to the back of his throat.

“You dragged the entire team in on this, but left me out of the loop. Again.”

“What good would it have done, Steve?” She even  _ sounded _ tired. Not like she did after a mission, but like she had in the days immediately following the Triskelion, after hours and hours of press conferences and debriefings. Like everything in her was worn down to the bone. “Be honest with me. If you’d known it was Bucky, what would you have done?”

“I wouldn’t have treated him like a goddamn leper for starters.”

That got a deadpan look out of her. “You were scent-marking him within the first month. Don’t give me that.”

Heat rushed to his cheeks, instantly mortified. How had she known about that? Did Bucky tell her? JARVIS? He certainly hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, too skittish about it to even consider saying it aloud.

“Look. Even if you didn't know it was him, you still took him in. But if you  _ had _ known it was him, you would have been growling at anyone who got too close and coddling him within an inch of his life. That wouldn’t have helped him.”

Steve decidedly didn't point out that he  _ had _ tried to coddle him regardless, even if it completely ruined her point. “When he found out I knew him, he all but ran out of the room Nat. Do  _ you _ think he would have taken that better if he’d learned organically, because I don’t think he would have.”

He was fairly sure he could hear her jaw click shut, tension rising in the room even without Tony’s obviously distressed scent heightening it all. Now it was just a pair of Alphas bordering on aggression.

“He was already starting to remember. We’re never going to find out now.”

That… Steve would admit to that catching him by surprise. Well, maybe not  _ surprise _ , given the nightmares, but. He hadn’t thought the rest of it was coming back as well. “What do you mean he was starting to remember? He never said--”

“Why would he think you would know?”

Steve winced. While he was pretty sure she wasn’t overtly saying it to be cruel, that didn't lessen the hurt of it. Why  _ would _ he think that Steve would know anything? Except…

“He came to me. Whether Bucky consciously knew it or not, I was the one he came to for definitive answers.”

The pause was heavy, and Steve wasn’t sure how long he could stay standing here before he ultimately crumbled. It was  _ choking _ him, had been since he saw Bucky’s face under the mask.

“He only hinted a few times that he knew I wasn’t giving him the whole truth,” Natasha said carefully. As if the wrong word could completely ruin this, in spite of the fact that everything had long since shattered. “He knew he was American. Probably suspected he was military, since JARVIS let that slip.” She cocked her head to the side a bit, gaze seeming to focus off in the distance somewhere. “He gave me a number I didn't recognize. I figured it was just another storage number HYDRA had assigned to him, but it might have been related to his service during the war.” She shook her head briefly, seeming to come back to herself. “It was coming back. But none of what I knew led directly to you.”

“You think he might have been hiding something from you?” he asked, deciding that skirting around the issue was part of how this situation had happened to begin with.

And subterfuge had never been his strong point.

“Do I think he would have deliberately hide something from me, a person he could barely remember and had no obvious reason to trust.” It was like she was rolling her eyes at him without actually having to physically do so.

Irritation bubbled up, barely noticeable among the rest of the frustration that was crawling under his skin. This was getting them absolutely nowhere. But Bucky had made it fairly clear that he didn't want to be around anyone, so what else  _ could _ he do?

What he should do, however, was get out of this room before he did something even more rash.

“So this entire thing was a sham, and no one really considered his feelings on the matter to begin with,” he surmised. While it felt a little mean, he didn't give her a chance to answer. “JARVIS, is Sergeant Barnes in his room?” Even if he wouldn’t go in unless Bucky asked for him, it would at least give him an excuse to leave.

Referring to Bucky like that felt a little forced, a little stilted. But he wasn’t sure if the AI was familiar with the nickname he’d carried since childhood, or if he’d only know him as Sergeant.

Belatedly, he realized that JARVIS was probably aware of Bucky’s identity as well, which truly only made the two of them, Clint, and likely Thor the only ones out of the loop.

“Sergeant Barnes left the Tower approximately thirty minutes ago,” JARVIS answered, and everything seemed to go still in that moment, save for the violent crack of the mask as it broke in half.

Distantly, Steve was aware of the hot liquid flooding his palm, spilling onto the floor, though he couldn’t feel the pain of the jagged plastic just yet.

Regardless of how his frustration had started to wane a bit, panic swelled to take its place the second he heard that. Bucky was gone? He’d been in Steve’s room not even--

“Where is he?” Natasha asked, apparently far more on top of things than Steve was. Much more in control of herself, at least.

“He didn't say, though I advised him strongly against leaving.”

Steve was pretty sure he was going to be sick, his guts coiling uncomfortably tight. “You just let him go?”

“Sir did not instruct me to keep him locked in here.”

There was a small chance he was imagining the disdain in JARVIS’ tone, but he wasn’t entirely sure just how much personality and free will the AI had. But knowing Tony, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was practically his own person who happened to have the capabilities to run Tony’s building as well as his suits.

Was that why he was always being asked to rush to Sergeant whenever Bucky had asked for him? Because JARVIS knew? Or was that just some sort of weird happenstance?

Abruptly, Steve turned on his heel, towards the door, bloody mask clattering to the floor. He wasn’t going to just sit here while Bucky was… Christ, he must be panicking if he ran so quickly. Probably didn't even take the time to fully process or pack up his things.

Did he even  _ have _ any things here?

“You can’t go after him.”

Steve paused mid-step, not even daring to look over at Natasha. He shouldn’t have even stopped, and he wasn’t sure what about her tone prompted him to.

“He’s not loyal to HYDRA, Steve. And if someone tried to keep me trapped while I was breaking through the Red Room’s training, I would have gotten violent. He already tried to kill you once.”

“Do you think they stopped looking for him just because he vanished? Because all their information is out in the open?” he countered, hands tight by his sides. The cut throbbed in protest. “He’s out there, probably unprotected. I can’t just…”

He didn't hear her footsteps, or even the shift of the furniture as she lifted herself out of it, but he recognized the warmth of her palm against his shoulder. “His body is a weapon. One he knows how to use just as well as any gun.”

Something about that just made him feel worse, the urge to push her back rising regardless of how hard he tried to tamp it back down. “He’s a  _ person _ , not a weapon,” he said, nearly a growl.

“He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he could swallow around the knot that tied up his throat, or if he could blink back the tears that were suddenly pricking at his eyes.

It was ridiculous that she was trying to comfort him now when this was really her fault to begin with, and he couldn’t quite hide the flare-up of anger again. He shrugged off her touch, continuing towards the elevator. “I let him go once, Nat. I’m not doing that again.”

This time, he didn't stop when she called his name again, wishing he had a door to slam behind him rather than the soft sound of the elevator opening.

“JARVIS, ground floor.”

“Right away, Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the vague notion, when starting this fic, that this would be one of the last things to happen. Then it started coming together and I realized that they wouldn't really get together until /after/ this point because hello trust issues
> 
> Anyways, as always, thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me this far. I also look lovingly at all the kudos and comments I get even if I'm awkward and never actually respond to everyone. I'm working up to that


	11. Chapter 11

Djenya didn't know what to do with himself.

Not Djenya, he had to correct himself. Bucky.  _ Bucky  _ didn't know what to do with himself.

The city of New York seemed so vast compared to the snippets of the world he’d gotten to see when he was under HYDRA. It seemed large compared to the tower, and enormous compared to the warehouses he had been stored in between uses.

His skin buzzed with nerves and too much energy, but he forced himself to walk at a normal, sedate pace and keep his head low as he navigated the streets partly from memory, partly from some sort of reflex he couldn’t explain.

Now, at least, he could blend in with people a little easier.There was no mask obscuring his face and while it felt horribly exposing, as if everyone who saw him knew exactly who he was, there was a sense of freedom that came from actually being able to breathe without it in the way.

With the old, worn out clothes he’d previously stolen in DC and a duffel slung over his shoulder, he looked a bit transient, but ultimately harmless. So long as he kept his arm covered and his left hand in a pocket, there was nothing that should arouse any type of suspicion.

The first thing he did was figure out how to get out of the city. He remembered, somewhat, how he’d gotten here to begin with. Which buses and trains he’d considered. Staying in New York sounded dangerous for a multitude of reasons, so that it was imperative that he get out as soon as possible.

The primary reason being that he had no doubt that Steve would come after him the second he realized Bucky left. He wasn’t sure where that knowledge came from, but he felt it deep in his bones and it didn't seem like the type of thing he didn't want to run the risk of proving right.

DC seemed like an only slightly safer bet, but it was a start. He could figure out a plan on his way there.

Though, he had the same problem now as he had the last time he was trying to go into hiding. He had no money, no identification, and no real means of getting anywhere.

But he’d managed it before, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t do it again. It should be easier this time. He felt like he could look and act less suspicious.

The train he’d managed to sneak on was just crowded enough that he didn't obviously stand out, but empty enough that he wasn’t crowded up next to someone. He could focus less on what was around him, and more on what he was getting away  _ from _ .

The last hour felt like enough of a whirl that he didn't even know where to begin processing it all.

While he’d expected that Steve knew who he was, with the plethora of memories he unwittingly brought to the surface, he hadn’t expected the way Steve  _ looked _ at him. The way his eyes widened, how he seemed to go soft, and his mouth had almost trembled around his name. One that he  _ knew _ , but hadn’t quite been able to assign to himself before he heard Steve say it now, in the present.

It was like Steve was seeing the sun for the first time in years and was completely awestruck by it. As if in all the time, he’d forgotten its existence.

He was pretty sure that being looked at like that made him feel unworthy, almost lower than dirt.

It was irrational, probably. He should like being looked at like that, and yet…

Maybe it was because he knew that what he remembered couldn’t account for more than a fragment of what Steve knew. And if he couldn’t remember something big enough to warrant an expression like that, then Bucky couldn’t be sure what else he could possibly be forgetting.

But then, there was no scar on the back of his neck. He  _ knew _ that, had touched the bonding point himself shortly after his second bout of withdrawals. After Steve had done the exact same thing.

He was almost disappointed when he didn't get the same rush of endorphins when he touched the smooth, innocuous patch of skin.

They weren’t bonded, at least. He hadn’t forgotten that, but there was  _ something _ \--

By the time he got to DC, he had no more of a plan than he had when he left the Tower. He’d spent the entire time thinking about Steve, about Natasha, about  _ Tony  _ because he couldn’t figure out where Tony knew him from.

Because Tony had to know, right? He’d recognized him enough to have JARVIS refer to him by rank, but unless they’d met on a fairly recent operation he couldn’t imagine why.

Unless Tony was also far older than he looked, which was entirely possible. After all, he, Steve, and Natasha all were. And looking at him sometimes brought the rattle of ‘Stark’ to his memories, which occasionally prompted a whole host of warning bells in his head.

While it felt dangerous to stay in one place, especially one that wasn’t all that far from where he had met Steve before, Bucky had to stay put long enough to figure out a plan.

The only thing he could think to do was to go back to where he had been stored in DC, but like hell was Bucky going to run that risk right now.

Later, maybe. If he ever came back to this place. First, he should probably run.

* * *

One problem Bucky hadn’t taken into account when gathering his scant belongings was running out of suppressants.

He’d managed to acquire money, both from running odd jobs and through outright theft, but he was fairly certain he’d need to see some sort of doctor to get a note for them.

Or, he had needed one before, and he wasn’t about to go in an ask if that was still the case. And he sure as hell couldn’t go to a doctor about it.

When he left New York, he thought he’d had about a month’s worth of pills. And he figured that by then, he would either be back in the Tower or would have figured out a way to get more.

While it had only been two weeks, it became obvious that he’d miscounted and only had about a week’s worth left before he completely ran out. If his estimation was right, he could make it about another week after that before the withdrawals set back in and left him useless. Vulnerable.

It wasn’t a good scenario.

He hadn’t convinced himself to leave DC, though couldn’t shake the odd feeling that something was going to happen, even when he’d yet to see anyone who even  _ looked _ like they wanted to take him away.

There was no sign of Steve either, and Bucky wasn’t sure why that disappointed him as much as it did. After all, he didn't want Steve to come after him to begin with. That was why he left the state.

But he also didn't want to slink back to the Tower, defeated, remembering almost nothing new, and hope that Tony’s offer of a new arm was still on the table because he was starting to feel the ache in his spine much more frequently.

The problem was, he was running out of options. And it wasn’t like he had much in the way of pride to begin with. Several of them had already seen him strapped down and rendered useless because of this exact problem, after all.

While he’d never seen Steve in that room, he was also fairly sure he’d looked up at him once, strapped down to a similarly cold metal table. Dazed, nearly out of his mind, and not particularly processing anything around him as  _ real _ .

That was something Bucky tried not to think about for a number of reasons.

The point was, none of his reasons seemed good enough to stay out here. Whatever he was looking for, it would be a lot easier to get them out of people who were still alive.

There were only a small number of people who fit that bill, and he was pretty sure none of them were in DC.

* * *

The nice thing about museums here was that it was free to go inside. It was a bit of a blessing to be off the streets, if only or a little while. The temperature control was helpful as well, though he suspected he would appreciate it far more if he was still out here when winter truly hit.

But this? This was a terrible idea.

It was marginally a better idea than looking up Agent Margaret Carter, but only because he had taken one look at her, lying in a hospital bed, and left the building immediately. Hands shaking, and almost ashamed to have even tried to see her. Like he didn't deserve to look at her, much less have a conversation.

Looking up at a blown up image of his face, commemorated as the only member of the team who had lost his life in the line of duty, Bucky felt a little helpless.

While Bucky wasn’t exactly sure what he’d find, or even remember by looking at this, it seemed like what he  _ was _ remembering was contradictory to at least some of what he was seeing here.

Yes, he was fairly sure he’d known Steve for a long time, but ‘from the schoolyard’ didn't seem… quite right, for some reason. Maybe it was because most of what he did remember involved Steve as at least a teenager, if not in his twenties. Maybe, though, those memories from childhood were simply too old to be recovered.

There were no traces of art. No mention of him going to art school, which was an odd thing for Bucky to be looking for, but maybe that would start to come back to him more concretely soon enough.

There was also no mention of Steve fighting in every alley in Brooklyn like a feral raccoon, and that was something Bucky was certain was true, regardless of the actual memories being hazy.

It wasn’t like he could deny the truth, though. Hell, he hadn’t been able to deny it when he’d first heard Steve say that name, looking down at him as if he couldn’t really believe what he was seeing.

Bucky had just hoped it would be easier once he saw the proof with his own eyes, but it looked like nothing about this was actually going to be easy. It had been foolish to think that it would be.

Thankfully, no one spared him a second glance while he spent what felt like hours in front of the brief mentions of Bucky Barnes. Not even when his panic rose up, surely noticeable to everyone around him. They all kept their eyes averted and gave him a wide berth.

It didn't sting quite as much as when both Steve and Tony bolted away from him within a day of each other, but it wasn’t a good feeling either.

A security guard eventually had to shoo him out once it was time for the exhibit to close, but if she noticed any similarity between Bucky’s face now, and the ones in the photograph, she didn't say anything about it. Just looked at him with a small measure of pity that got under his skin too quick as he ducked his head and pulled down the brim of his cap. Walking away a little quicker than maybe he should have.

* * *

At this point, Bucky was willing to admit he was out of ideas. While he hadn’t actually intended on tracking down the HYDRA base--he was pretty sure that was closer to something Steve would do--there was an itch under his skin from sitting around and doing nothing. And he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave without doing this like he’d first considered when he was still on his way into DC.

For all of his apprehension about this, the building looked to have been long-since abandoned, in spite of him being housed here less than six months ago.

Bucky was pretty sure it had looked abandoned when it was in use, but there was no sign that anyone had ever been there. No cryo-tubes, no files lying around…

The only indication that this was even the right place was the chair sitting innocuously in the middle of an otherwise empty room.

Just the chair, too. The electroshock mechanism was gone.

It held no power, nothing in here did, but that didn't stop the bile from rising up in his throat just from seeing the damn thing.

He couldn’t actually remember much of the chair That was the point of it, he supposed. He knew what it did. Knew what it meant when his last handler had said ‘wipe him and start over’ while his cheek was still stinging, almost burning.

Not that he could remember why he’d been wiped to begin with. He assumed it had something to do with him being awake too long, but he couldn’t remember. Not yet, maybe not ever.

In spite of there being nothing there, Bucky didn't hesitate before blowing the entire building up, making sure he had a decent hiding spot in case it was picked up by whoever might be looking for him.

Just because this place had been abandoned didn't mean that HYDRA was entirely gone. And he suspected that they would start looking for him if they weren’t already. It was just a matter of trying to stay ahead, while at the same time try to put together the disjointed pieces of memory that he  _ was _ certain of.

And, honestly, there was definitely an element of catharsis to watching the walls give way with a bang. As if watching it get reduced to rubble lessened the threat of HYDRA, in spite of him logically knowing that it didn't really do a damn thing.

* * *

He was almost positive Sam was so,  _ so _ tired of hearing Steve bring up Bucky at this point, but he was running out of places to go and like hell was he going to return to the Tower empty handed.

It was just… It had been weeks. No leads. Nothing. He couldn’t even think of where Bucky might  _ go _ to begin with. From the start, Steve had just been running in circles.

And then there was the problem problem that, even if he did manage to find him, Steve was pretty sure that Bucky wouldn’t actually want to see him, and that it was probably better to just wait for him to come back. He was just too stubborn to admit that Natasha was right.

At least this time, he was certain Sam would be on his side.

“Do you just not sleep anymore?” Sam asked, settling on the bench beside Steve, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle almost primly.

The park was almost empty at this hour. A few joggers passed them by, and while the sun was out, it was still barely seven in the morning on a Sunday.

“It’s a decent hour to be awake.” His shoulders lifted defensively. Though, Sam was honestly right. He was pretty sure the circles under his eyes almost looked like bruises at this point. At least if they were seated like this, he didn't have to look directly at Sam. “It’s… A lot’s been going on in the last couple weeks. That’s all.”

He could feel Sam’s appraising look burning into him, but Steve wasn’t sure he could physically shrink in on himself any further at this point. “This better not be about Djenya again. I swear to god if you called me over here to be lovesick about him, I’m leaving right now.”

“It’s Bucky,” he said before he could stop himself.

That got Sam to pause for a moment, lips pursing. “What about Bucky?”

It felt like there was something sharp and jagged in his throat that he had to carefully swallow around before he could speak. “I was… You asked, months ago, if I thought that the Winter Soldier was Bucky.” He couldn’t even look up, though he was past seeing the people around him. They didn't even register. “Turns out he was.”

Entire minutes seemed to tick by while he waited for Sam to say something, anything. Each second grated against Steve’s skin in a way that he couldn’t explain or rationalize.

“You’re sure?” he asked quietly. Almost pityingly.

As if he thought that maybe Steve had been hoping hard enough that he was just imagining things now.

“He let me take off the mask. I’d recognize that face anywhere, Sam. It’s him, just… I don’t know. I should have seen it earlier.”

“I’m sorry, has he been wearing that mask the entire time he’s been living with you?” Sam interrupted, sounding more shocked by that point than anything else.

Steve wasn’t sure why that bothered him. Of all the things,  _ that _ was what got his attention. “He was under orders not to take it off so I wouldn’t recognize him.”

Sam whistled lowly, sinking deeper into the bench. “I know I probably say this a lot more often than I should have to, but I think you might want to start looking for some new friends, Steve. That’s not right.”

His answering scoff sounded bitter even to his own ears. Regardless of this whole mess, Steve wasn’t about to leave the Avengers.

Probably. Steve wasn’t even sure anymore.

“Nat thinks it would have been better for him to remember on his own, without me prompting him the entire way.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you should have been kept in the dark about it either.” Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, and it was one of the first times Steve could pick up frustration in his scent. 

Which was really saying something, considering all the shit that Steve had dragged him into during the short period of time they’ve known each other. Sam’s control was nearly as good as Natasha’s.

“He left the second I found out. The second  _ we _ found out, I guess.”

“And let me guess, you haven’t slept since.”

Heat rushed to his face as Steve ducked his head. It was obvious, he knew that much. Didn't mean he liked hearing it. “Would you be able to sleep in my position? If it was Riley?”

The answering snort of laughter was all that Steve needed to hear, as mirthless as it was. “Man, your boy has the worst luck. Yours isn’t looking too great either.”

“Yeah, thanks Sam.” His phone went off, and Steve reached for it with a small frown. After the first two days full of demands to know where he was, and pleas for him to come back, it had gone almost entirely silent.

But there was a message from Tony now, who was one of the last people Steve expected to reach out.

_ An abandoned HYDRA base was just destroyed in DC. Sending coordinates and a Quinjet. -TS _

_ Don’t tell Natasha I told you. I’m almost positive it was Barnes. -TS _

Steve stared at the messages for longer than he could really defend, only snapping back to himself after Sam nudged him. 

“What is it?”

There was a good chance he should tell Sam. But he’d dragged him into far too many things already, though he had no doubt that he’d follow Steve on this one as well, if he asked.

But if Tony’s tip turned out to be wrong, or if the trail was cold by the time Steve managed to get there, he didn't want anyone to see him break down over it.

“I have to go,” he said instead, standing up a little jerkily.

“Steve--”

“It’s probably nothing.” Steve shoved his phone into his pocket, walking backwards. “I just… It’s probably nothing. I just need to go, now.”

There was something almost pitying in Sam’s dark eyes, but he made no move to get up or try to follow. “Just don’t do anything too reckless, all right? Just because you’re built like a tank, doesn’t mean you’re indestructible.”

Steve didn't deign to respond to that, turning around and trying not to run as fast as he could towards the pickup point. It would take time for Tony’s Quinjet to get there, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle impatiently waiting for its arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a weird time writing this chapter. I can't remember how long ago I was working on this, but I do remember that there was a point where almost the entire middle section was riddled with edit notes that was primarily a reordering issue. The good news is, I think I managed to work it out much more smoothly than how it originally was, but I'm going to admit to having a rough go of it
> 
> Also, I don't know if any of you really care about my weird ending-rambles, but if you /do/, know that I'm especially grateful
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for reading, and I appreciate your comments, kudos, etc. I like hearing what you guys think of this, good bad and ugly


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn’t, apparently, reasonable for Bucky to have come up with a plan before he was watching the ashes settle from a safe distance.

He got the sense that the whole thing was out of character for him, but wasn’t sure if he thought that just because HYDRA always had plans for him that he followed. And then he’d continued to follow their orders even after they seemed to abandon him after the fallout f Project Insight.

Maybe he was actually a reckless person, but that didn't sound or feel right.

The fire department and police had already descended on the burned out shell of a building, which shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. After all, it wasn’t exactly out in the middle of nowhere, even if the whole area felt deserted.

And he was pretty sure explosions got treated with higher priority than a lot of other things.

He was far enough away that no one should come looking for him, at least. And he could defend himself by saying that he just happened to be in the area and saw that people were already there.

Not that he thought they’d believe him but if it came down to it, Bucky knew he could incapacitate anyone who tried to take him in, providing that they didn't outnumber him ten to one.

Though, there was a chance he could get away even against those odds. It just wouldn’t be pretty. There would almost certainly be casualties.

He expected it to feel more monumental than it did. As he watched the smoke start to dissipate, all Bucky could feel was a hollowness in his gut. The satisfaction had quickly faded; there was no relief, just… Emptiness. If anything, he felt worse now than he did before setting the building ablaze, and that was all kinds of horrible.

Bucky  _ needed  _ a plan. He knew that--had known that for weeks. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to move out of the boarded up apartment he was currently hiding out in.

If he was lucky, he had time. He was pretty sure that even if this caught the attention of Steve and his team, it would take them at least an hour to get down here.

Hopefully he would be long gone by then. And if he wasn’t, then he hoped nobody would look for him up here.

Though, if he was found, he could justify going back to the Tower. And that would solve his suppressant issue without too much damage to his pride. It was one thing for him to come crawling back himself. It was different if someone brought him back. He could pretend that it was just how things went, and nurse his ego with that. He could ignore the way his skin crawled at the thought of being under Natasha’s scrutiny again.

If they found him, he decided, he would go back. But he wouldn’t run just yet.

* * *

It didn't seem to take as long as he’d anticipated before he could pick up hints of that city-after-a-storm Alpha scent he’d come to associate with Steve.

Which likely meant that Steve could pick up  _ his _ scent to track him down, and that thought shouldn’t have been nearly as thrilling as it was: vaguely reminding him of seeing the way he’d gouged at the doorframe with his fingers while he had been in rut.

There was a chance that Bucky was a little more feral than he’d thought, in spite of him not showing any other signs of it.

He didn't move, still watching the former HYDRA warehouse from the darkened windows as he waited. The sun hadn’t quite set yet. If he was still alone when night fell, he’d leave and find somewhere else to hide out in DC until it all blew over.

Maybe, some borderline romantic part of him thought, he could wait for Steve in front of his own Smithsonian exhibit and be found there.

The mere notion was entirely ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but consider it anyways.

He felt exposed up here, waiting for someone to come find him. What if HYDRA was looking for him too, and used the explosion to track him down? It was almost definitely a terrible idea to stay here, but he couldn’t bring himself to go either. Bucky couldn’t leave, even though he should.

There was no real way to track the passing of time, aside from watching the sun fall closer and closer to the horizon. He didn't have a watch, or one of those fancy phones that was essentially a computer small enough to fit in the palm of a hand.

It was more of a relief than he’d ever admit when the steel and concrete scent grew stronger and he heard the door to the building open. It was rusted and loud enough that it wasn’t even something he’d need his enhanced hearing for; making him flinch a bit though he made sure to remain motionless otherwise.

It had to be Steve. He was pretty sure no one he’d worked under with HYDRA had that scent, nor anyone who could reasonably get here so quickly.

The footsteps sounded loud against the stairs and creaky floorboards, but Bucky refused to tear his eyes away from the old warehouse. The fire had long since been extinguished, but there was still a heavy scent of smoke in the air. Still almost visible, even.

They finally stopped in what Bucky estimated to be the doorway, nothing but their breathing and the unsteady beat of his own heart audible to his ears.

“Bucky, I--”

“I should have left hours ago,” he interrupted, though his voice was soft. Unsure. It frustrated him, having spent so many years so sure of himself, but ever since his last assignment, everything had been thrown into question.

Maybe it had been in question before that. They’d put him in the chair almost immediately before sending him out to make sure Project Insight went off without a hitch.

The pain rolling off of Steve was palpable, making Bucky himself feel a little raw just to smell it. He sighed, shoulders slumping. It felt different to be in front of him without the mask on. More vulnerable.

“I got flashes, before. Memories, probably, but none of it made sense. Still doesn’t make sense, really, but I made a point not to tell anyone.” He didn't turn back to look at Steve, still focused on the window. “And I knew it had to be you, even if it didn't really look like you. You’d move the same, talk the same, but I can’t… I can’t  _ remember _ you. Can’t remember being  _ him _ .”

Steve didn't seem to know what to say. Didn't seem to know what to do, since Bucky couldn’t hear him move across the room, or anywhere at all. Both of them stock still.

It felt like a small eternity before Steve replied, “It doesn’t matter if you remember or not. I just want you to be safe.”

Bucky’s laugh felt entirely humorless, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the glass. Hoping the chill of it would help calm him down, or slow the racing of his heart.

It didn't work. That didn't surprise him.

“She lied to me. They all did; why should I trust them?”

He didn't know why he was trying to put up a fight about this when he’d long since decided that if Steve found him, he’d go back. Had been grateful for the opportunity to save at least some of his pride without losing access to suppressants.

“I don’t know Buck. Do you trust me, at least?”

That was a hell of a question. Did he? Steve seemed more shocked than anything when the mask came away. While he’d known Bucky before, he certainly hadn’t known it was him living there under the guise of ‘Djenya’. He hadn’t known, hadn’t hidden anything from him.

But he wasn’t sure how much that counted for. Maybe if he had known, he also wouldn't have told him. But he’d never know that now that the cat was out of the bag.

“What if I don’t want to go back there?” he asked, surprising himself. Apparently he wasn’t as in control of himself as he’d previously thought. Apparently the thought of sharing a home with  _ them _ again was too much for him.

Though, he wasn’t sure why he’d thought he had good control when this entire exercise in getting away from his past as well as HYDRA had ended like this. With him ignoring every instinct that told him to run, and only following the one telling him to stay.

It was almost a little pathetic.

“Where would you want to go?”

That answer was almost as surprising as Bucky’s question, finally prompting him to turn back to look at him.

Steve looked exhausted. Almost distressed, even, and it was a shock that Bucky hadn’t picked up on that sooner. Now that he could see the dark circles under his eyes, he couldn’t ignore the sourness in his scent.

The pang in his chest was unexpected, but Bucky kept his face impassive all the same. Didn't want to give anything away.

It was almost definitely a leftover from either the Red Room or HYDRA, and the thought sickened him.

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure out where to go for the last several weeks. This--” he gestured vaguely toward the warehouse. “This was about all the plan I had, Stevie. I don’t know what I’m doing out here.”

The name ‘Stevie’ seemed to get a strong reaction out of Steve, barely catching himself before actually lurching forward, though Bucky couldn’t for the life of him think why he’d said it. He thought, maybe, he’d done it before, recently, but he couldn’t recall hearing anyone else from the Avengers call him that.

In the few seconds Steve took to compose himself, Bucky forced himself to look back out the window. Maybe it was easier when he couldn’t physically watch Steve react to things. Then he wouldn’t have to try and puzzle it out for himself.

“I think my place in DC is still empty. You can stay there as long as you’d like.”

It wasn’t exactly the answer he’d been hoping for. Part of him wanted something definitive, a plan to follow. But he also didn't want to be reliant on other people telling him what to do.

Bucky swallowed thickly, squaring his shoulders. Steve had issued maybe two orders during his time in the Tower. Only one of them had something vaguely resembling any sort of follow-through, and he’d almost immediately retracted the other one.

Maybe Steve was the one who needed direction here. But that didn't sound right, even with his decades of missing memories.

“Come here,” he said softly. Knowing full well that Steve would be able to hear him.

And he didn't need to say it twice, it seemed. Steve audibly stumbled forward until Bucky could practically feel Steve's warmth radiating against his back.

It was a little heady, knowing that Steve would obey him without even a second’s hesitation. It probably shouldn’t have been, but there it was.

Bucky breathed slow, deep, letting his eyes slip shut as he just… Just felt, for what seemed like the first time in ages. He tried to tamp down the swirling mess while he was on the train, not wanting to be distracted by any of that when he was trying to sort out something that could pass for a self-assigned mission.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Bucky nodded, knowing it was true even before Steve answered. The was no shock, no surprise. All Bucky could feel was a sense of inevitability. Of course Steve would follow him; he’d come out here searching for Bucky, hadn’t he?

“I can’t keep you away from your team,” he said, blindly reaching back. It took a little groping before his fingers finally laced with Steve’s. “But I’m not going back there with them either.”

While it wasn’t a familiar gesture, it still felt like home. Unlike when he’d curled up against Steve the single time he could remember them sharing a bed, which felt familiar enough that it ached.

“I was considering taking some time away anyways. I don’t want to leave you.”

There was a painful sort of earnestness in his voice that just brought back all that jagged emotion to Bucky’s chest.

He should turn him away. Tell him no, even though he was the one who had asked. Bucky couldn’t bring himself to even consider it for longer than a few seconds.

“All right,” he finally said. “All right, Stevie.”

Steve’s relief was palpable, and Bucky had a hard time keeping his knees steady in response. It was fine. He could do this.

* * *

Steve wondered if this was what it had looked like when Bucky had first been brought into the Tower.

He had expected it to take more coaxing to get Bucky to come with him, but he had also expected it to be much harder to find him.

_ I should have left hours ago _ .

What was he supposed to make of that?

Some deeply selfish part of him wondered if he couldn’t bring himself to run away because he wanted to be around Steve, or that he couldn’t  _ really  _ leave him.

It was wishful thinking, and he mentally berated himself for even entertaining the notion of it. Bucky didn't need him. Bucky had never needed him. It had always been the other way around, whether he remembered it or not.

There was a small furrow between Bucky’s brows as he walked through the sparsely decorated apartment. Every few feet, he’d pause, regard an empty shelf, or the beige carpet, or some other mundane object, then shake his head a bit and move on.

There was a very real chance that Bucky remembered looking in on this room before, and he was just noticing the things that had changed after he tried to kill Fury.

“Everything all right?” he asked, once Bucky passed by another generic, plastic bookshelf that probably came with the apartment, and had paused in front of the window he had fired through.

“I don’t know.”

In retrospect, Steve wasn’t sure why he hadn’t recognized Bucky by his voice. Sure, it had been muffled by the mask, and he’d lost that heavy Brooklyn accent, but…

Maybe it was like the scent thing. It was just off enough that Steve had convinced himself that it couldn’t possibly be Bucky, regardless of how much he wanted it to be.

He was hesitant, coming to stand behind him once more and fighting off the urge to bury his nose in Bucky’s neck. They’d been close like that before, but that didn't mean anything now.

Now he understood Natasha’s worry about not forcing Bucky to be who he had been in the past. It stung more now that he understood it had been directed at him.

The whole thing stung when he realized that so much of it was a ploy to keep him from finding out that it was Bucky they had brought into the Tower.

He should probably tell the team he wouldn’t be coming back, and that he was safe. Loathe as he was to contact any of them, though he should at least thank Tony for the tip. But the same part of him that made him wait before confronting them a few weeks ago insisted that he should just continue to let them sweat.

But that had gone over so well last time. And he  _ did _ owe Tony at least a call, if nothing else.

“I’m going to make a couple calls, all right? I’ll be right back”

Bucky nodded, only a shallow bob of the head, but that was enough for Steve right now. Hopefully he’d settle in more once he had been here longer, like he had in the Tower.

Only when he was alone did Steve start to feel shaky. The full weight of what was going on hit all at once, and Steve tried to blink back the rush of tears.

It was ridiculous. He had Bucky  _ back _ , why was he getting upset now? The worst was over now, wasn’t it?

Tony blessedly answered on the second ring.

“I’m guessing by the delay that you either found him, or you’ve been moping for the last three hours.”

Steve tried not to sigh heavily, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. At least Tony’s lack of tact was constant. “He’s with me. We’re going to be staying in DC for a little while.”

“We,” Tony repeated. “You’re not coming back?”

He glanced back to his door. “Not right now. Look, you know that place in DC where I was staying for a while? Any chance you can arrange to have me staying there again until things settle down a little bit more?”

“Of course you’re calling for a favor. Why am I not surprised?”

Steve’s face burned, almost ashamed, in spite of the frustration that tightened his throat because he had never asked Tony for anything before.

Tony  _ offered _ a place in the Tower. That wasn’t on Steve. And after that stunt that he'd pulled, trying to hide Bucky's identity? “You know it’s not like that, Tony. You’re the only one I can ask this of.”

“I’m the only one who’d agree to it, you mean.” In spite of being hundreds of miles away, Steve could just picture Tony starting to pace, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’ll take care of it. Just don’t forget to check in every now and again, all right? And see if he’ll come up for the new arm, because I really don’t think that one’s good for his back, super-soldier or not.”

He was more relieved than he really should have been to hear that. While he didn't think Tony would suddenly rescind his help, it was still good to hear that he was offering it. “Yeah, of course. I’ll see what I can do about it. I owe you.”

“I think this makes us even. Or maybe I only owe you a little more before we’re squared away.”

Well, there was that. Maybe it would be a little easier to reach out to Tony than the rest of the team, given that he at least seemed ready to admit that he might have been in the wrong here. As stubborn as he could be when he was sure he was right, at least he’d begrudgingly admit when he wasn’t. Usually.

After he hung up with Tony, he made sure to check in with Sam as well, assuring him that he  _ hadn’t _ gone and gotten his dumb ass killed, and that he  _ was _ safe, and Bucky  _ was _ with him.

It reminded him of how Bucky used to grouse at him after hauling his ass out of another alleyway brawl. It seemed he gravitated towards a certain type of person.

Natasha would just tell him that he had a type, with a small smirk and exaggerated eyebrow waggling. The thought almost hurt, residual anger at her still festering.

Bucky was almost right where Steve had left him, though his palm was pressed up against the window glass now.

“I think I killed someone here, once,” he said softly.

Steve could faintly make out his reflection, see the thin line of his mouth as he waited Steve’s response.

The fact that he was hazy on something so recent worried him. Or maybe it wasn’t that the memory was hazy, but the apartment itself was nondescript enough that he couldn’t be sure.

“You didn't kill him,” he said, resting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. Letting himself touch without crossing any lines. “It was faked. He’s alive and well, just lying low.”

Bucky nodded once, eyes meeting Steve’s in the reflection. “I won’t ask you to tell me everything you remember about me. But I’m trusting you to help me out when I need you to.”

Steve recognized an order when he heard one. And, well, Bucky’s were about the only commands he’d ever listened to, even if his track record with that was also spotty. “I’ll do whatever it is you ask, Buck. Just say the word.”

He could very nearly pick up the warmth of self-satisfaction in Bucky’s scent, though he couldn’t deny the bitterness of his anxiety underneath it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back everyone <3 I'm starting to wrap up the writing portion of this fic, which is absolutely wild considering where I am in the posting schedule. It might be a couple chapters longer than anticipated, depending on what I want to do with the epilogue.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading/commenting/leaving kudos. It really makes my day


	13. Chapter 13

It didn't even take twelve hours before Steve was being handed keys to the apartment and supplies started to come in, including a pack of suppressants Steve wouldn’t have thought to ask for, but Bucky’s relief upon seeing them was palpable.

Different furniture arrived just as quickly, and Steve couldn’t help but notice there was only one bed delivered to them.

Well. It was a one bedroom apartment to begin with. That shouldn’t have surprised him. And they had shared a bed before, both back in Brooklyn and once in the Tower.

It just  _ felt _ different when waking up in a bed to find Bucky inches away, still asleep and looking more relaxed than Steve had probably seen him since he got drafted. It felt different knowing he was there now, when he wasn’t trying to escape his nightmares.

Steve hardly dared to move, barely dared to breathe in fear of disturbing him.

There was a careful dance the two of them seemed to be doing, which was on par for Bucky, but Steve was known for recklessly charging in without a second thought. They kept a respectable amount of space between them during the day, Steve often going out to gather necessities Tony hadn't sent them, while Bucky… Well. Bucky stayed in the apartment.

It was reminiscent of the early days when Bucky had first been brought to the Tower. There had been at least a week between when he arrived and when he actually ventured out of the floor he’d been given. Maybe, Steve hoped, it would only take about that long before Bucky settled here as well.

Unlike when they were in the Tower, Steve had made a point to tell Bucky that he could leave, often inviting him to pick out some things, but Bucky would insist on staying behind. Vaguely casing the apartment and checking the windows and locks. He wasn’t sure if that was an improvement from when he would sit tightly curled up and avoiding everyone.

He was careful about what he brought back with him, knowing that--even if Bucky might not actively remember--courting behaviors tended to be more deeply ingrained than that.

And Steve wasn’t about to accidentally put Bucky in that kind of position, regardless of the fact that they were now back to sharing a bed. 

Regardless of the fact that they had spent years bordering on ‘more’ before the US entered WWII.

_ Especially  _ considering the fact that he’d already had his world shaken up so many times just since Project Insight. Time and again he’d been lied to, manipulated, and like hell was Steve going to do anything that could be construed as taking advantage of whatever trust Bucky  _ did _ have in him.

But still…

He couldn’t help the way his gaze lingered on a slim, hardback notebook while on his way up to the checkout. It didn't really cost that much. And Bucky always used to scribble away in the same manner that Steve would sketch. Mindlessly, sometimes compulsively, just to fill the time. Just to get whatever was in his head out on paper.

More importantly, it probably couldn’t be mistaken for courting gift, which was the reason he hadn’t started bringing sweets to Bucky.

He put it in the cart, having to circle back to look for pens to go along with it. The selection was a little overwhelming--was there a difference between general pens, pens for women, and pens for Omegas?--but he was pretty sure ‘quick drying’ and ‘smooth’ were both good qualities in a pen, so he added a pack of those as well.

Steve made sure not to make a big deal of them when he arrived back at their new home, unpacking them just like the other groceries. They were set aside on the counter, neatly, waiting for Bucky to come collect them.

“What are these for?” Bucky asked, peering at them from his perch on the kitchen island.

While it wasn’t quite odd to see him up there, there was still a disconnect. Before, it had been Steve that had hauling himself up onto whatever surface he could so that they were at eye level. He wasn’t sure where the habit came from for Bucky.

There was a chance he had a vague memory of people up on counters but couldn’t remember which one of them the habit belonged to.

Steve made a point to shrug nonchalantly, ducking his head into the refrigerator to put away the assortment of fruits he’d gotten. Still things that were sweet, but nothing like the pastries Bucky used to savor when they had the spare cash. “You used to hoard things like this back in the day. I bought it on a whim.”

Saying it out loud like that made it sound more domestic than he’d intended. Like it was an everyday thing for them to go out and bring things home for each other ‘just because’.

At least Bucky didn't react more than shooting a considering look at the notebook and then to Steve. Steve probably shouldn’t be watching Bucky’s reactions this closely, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“Thank you,” he said eventually, sliding off the countertop and tentatively reaching for them. Cradling the book and pack of pens against his chest as if he worried someone would take them away.

It made his heart ache to even consider. “Yeah, Buck. I said anything, didn't I?” Now that he’d ascertained that Bucky was at least timidly grateful for them, he let himself return to his task. Probably not so secretly pleased that he’d gotten this right.

“You’ve done more than I could ask, even before you knew.”

That got the blood to rush to Steve’s face, his good mood nearly broken instantly. He  _ hadn’t _ , not really. He’d done what Bucky asked, for the most part. Granted him company when he asked for it, things like that. It was rare for him to actually look for Bucky and offer something without prompting.

Realizing that had hurt. It stung and made him want to curl up and maybe disappear, because he could have done so much more. Would have, if he had known, and what exactly did that say about him?

“I think you’re being too generous,” he said, choosing his words carefully. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful that Bucky thought that. It was just… It wasn’t quite true.

“And I think you’re being a fucking martyr.”

Steve froze for a split second. Not long enough that it would hopefully be noticeable, but he could feel it. He was pretty sure no one had accused him of that since Bucky. Not like that, at least. Most of the team had expressed that he was a self sacrificing idiot at one point or another, but this was different. This  _ felt  _ different.

“What’s that make you for always following me, huh?” he asked, following their old script whether Bucky remembered it or not.

There was a definite pause now, and Steve forced himself not to glance over. To not try and gauge Bucky’s expression, even as he closed the refrigerator and went back to the reusable bags he had picked up shortly after his arrival back in DC.

Trying not to hope that Bucky would answer back with ‘it makes me less of an idiot than you, at least’.

“I’m guessing that’s something I used to tell you a lot,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

While Steve had suspected that Bucky didn't actually remember, it still brought a hollow feeling to his chest to hear it. “Yeah. Yeah, you did. And I’m pretty sure you were usually right.”

There was an obvious flutter of pages, Bucky probably flipping through the notebook. “Stevie too. I don’t… It feels right. But I don’t always know why I say or do something, even after I say it.”

“Reflexes.” Maybe it made sense. Steve wasn’t going to pretend he had any idea how that sort of thing worked; normally he’d reach out to Bruce or Natasha about that kind of thing but he just… couldn’t bring himself to even want to. Bruce was slightly more palatable, but knowing he had viewed Steve as a threat? Regardless of the way he had almost felt like one, it felt almost like a slap to the face.

“Or muscle memory.”

Now Steve glanced over, just in time for Bucky to look away. Whether he was actually absorbed in the blank pages or just wanted to look that way, Steve couldn’t quite tell. “Yeah. Something like that.” 

Bucky nodded slowly, rocking back on his heels a little bit. “I’m going to… I’ll be in our room for a bit.”

He didn't bolt, or look like he was in any kind of a rush. There was still a pang in Steve’s heart as he watched him go, even though logically he knew that he wasn’t going to go anywhere.

It was just a little bit of space. Steve could honestly do something on his own while Bucky dealt with whatever it was he wanted the room for.

There was still that familiar ache of Bucky leaving him behind, however irrational it was.

* * *

Parts of living with Bucky again were good. Better than it had been before the war.

Most of the parts that were better involved the fact that there was always food in the fridge and there was never any worry about the rent going up, but Steve was grateful for the small things.

The nightmares seemed to be sporadic, and in spite of his skittishness around leaving the apartment, Bucky didn't seem to be forcing himself to keep away from Steve all that much. He didn't seem quite as cagey as he had before.

That said, he kept more distance now than he had before he knew. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, but he wasn’t about to push it.

It wasn’t to the point where they were sleeping in separate rooms, or even separate places, but he didn't come curl up on the couch next to Steve anymore. He’d just settle himself on the other side, and curl up around his notebook for hours at a time.

Still comfortable. But something that Steve couldn’t help but notice.

Steve didn't know what he was writing, but he had a couple guesses. Given the fact that, occasionally, he would start scribbling furiously in it after Steve answered some question or explained something, it was pretty safe to assume that he was using the notebook to keep track of what was real and what wasn’t.

The thought was more than a little heartbreaking.

Things were coming back to him. Even without Natasha hinting that maybe he had been hiding things from her, it was obvious that there were at least some things about himself and Steve that he remembered.

And he didn't seem to be afraid to ask Steve anything about their shared past.

“What were we?”

Steve paused, halfway through shading under Bucky’s jaw on paper while Bucky himself curled up in a patch of sun.

Maybe Steve should look into building him a window seat, if they were going to stay here for a while. Or he could just do that wherever they ended up permanently.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” Steve said after a moment of trying to parse out Bucky’s question.

Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes. It was hard not to be pleased that he was comfortable enough with Steve to sass him. “I mean what were we,” he repeated, as if that would make things any clearer.

It didn't.

“I know we weren’t…” Bucky touched his neck, and Steve’s face felt like it burst into flames instantly.

That was what he meant.

Steve tried to swallow a couple times before actually managing it. That was a hell of a question. And probably not as simple as it should have been, mostly because they had refused to talk about it at the time. 

Apparently there were some mistakes that Steve never learned from. “We were close. I… We never put a name to it. But we were closer than friends.”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, getting to his feet with more grace than probably should be possible. The way he very nearly stalked towards Steve probably shouldn’t have caught his attention the way it did.

Steve would admit he had a… well, it wasn’t a  _ thing _ . It wasn’t. It was just…

Ok, maybe it was a thing.

“Closer than friends,” Bucky repeated, grabbing the sketchpad right out of his hand. “So if I remembered something like this…”

Steve wasn’t entirely sure if he could move, but knew damn well he could hardly breathe when Bucky pressed their lips together. He’d seen it coming. Bucky wasn’t hurrying, but it still caught him off guard.

It wasn't much of a kiss. It was closer to Bucky pressing their mouths hard together than anything else.

That didn't stop Steve’s breath from catching in his throat, heart thudding painfully in spite of the fact that Bucky pulled back half a second later, half kneeling on the couch and watching him warily.

Part of him wanted to drag Bucky back in, to kiss him properly like they used to, but he couldn’t bring himself to so much as move. It felt like a test, it  _ had _ to be. Maybe it was one for Bucky instead of him, but that didn't change the fact that it felt too timid, too tentative for Steve to want to push for another.

“So if I remember something like that , it wouldn’t surprise you.”

His palms twitched, fighting the urge to reach for him, even if just to cradle his cheek, or brush his hair back. “Yeah,” he said, too hoarse. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Yes. We… That’s something we did.” A lot. Often. Steve used to constantly worry that Bucky would catch onto how reverent he was when they kissed.

Bucky looked at him, considering. There was a definite level of heat to his gaze, but it was more in line with frustration than arousal. “All right.” The words were quiet, almost apologetic as he stood back up, nervously tucking a few waves of hair back.

There was a marked hesitation before he bent back down, lips brushing against Steve’s cheek as he replaced the sketchbook much more tentatively than he'd taken it away. “Thank you.”

Something solid weighed in his throat, and all Steve could do was nod as he watched Bucky go back to his patch of sunlight.

He’d always been a little bad at physical intimacy, but never to this degree. Steve had been so sure that Bucky had trained practically all of it out of him before the ice.

Or. Trained out the embarrassment as long as he was with Bucky.

Once again, Bucky started scribbling away, only to pause to actually look back up at Steve. “Why didn't we put a name to it?”

Somehow, that was almost a worse question than before. It was harder to explain away without making at least one of them look bad. But he wasn’t going to be like Nat; there was no sense in trying to save his own pride over something that happened last century.

“I didn't want you tied down to me.”

“Meaning?”

Steve shrugged halfheartedly, trying not to curl in on himself and focused on his sketch just so he wouldn’t have to look at Bucky. “I was going to die young. Even if you never wanted to admit it. Didn't think it would be fair to leave you widowed before you were thirty.”

Regardless of the fact that he was trying not to look, Steve could see Bucky’s eyes hardening into a look he very much recognized. “That’s bullshit. Don’t you think I should have been allowed to decide if it was worth it or not?”

“You didn't try to put a name to it either, Buck. I don’t know what to tell you on that front.” It was a weak defense. His voice  _ sounded _ weak as he offered it.

He frowned, but didn't say anything further. Just curled more around his notebook, writing at a slightly slower pace than normal.

Hopefully that meant that particular argument wasn’t going to happen right now, but Steve waited a little longer before returning to his sketch for real.

Several minutes later, though, Bucky spoke again. “What about now, then? Since widowing me seems to be pretty unlikely.”

Steve had to swallow thickly, unsure of the answer for more reasons than the obvious one. “I don’t know, Buck. Neither of us are the same, and I don’t want you to feel… obligated, just because that’s what we were doing before.”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, not daring to look up at Steve, and that really wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. “Before I knew, before either of us knew, I couldn’t figure out why it was that you felt like home. Why you were the one I wanted to be around. I don’t… I don’t want to lose that.”

It was hard to keep his hands steady, his grip almost noticeably tightening around his pencil, but he didn't want to be too obvious about how that hit in his heart. “I’d like to try again,” he said carefully. Knowing it wouldn’t be fair to try and play it casual in an effort to keep himself objective. “But I don’t want to rush into it just because that’s how we used to be.”

“Because you’re afraid of what HYDRA changed in me.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to glare, even if Bucky wasn’t looking at him. “Because losing you the first time changed me more than I care to admit, and I don’t know if that’s good for you.”

While Bucky didn't look up, Steve got the impression that he loosened a fair bit. His brow softened and shoulders dropped. “All right,” he said. “All right. We’ll take it at your slow, old man pace.”

Steve snorted, a lot of the tension breaking with something as simple as Bucky’s returning snark. “You’re older than me, Buck. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m sure it’s slanderous.” Still, Steve could see the smile he was trying to hide, and it warmed his heart more than he wanted to admit.

But then, he’d always been particularly easy for Bucky Barnes.

* * *

Sam didn't particularly like visiting the Avengers Tower. Liked it even less when Steve wasn’t there to act as a sort of buffer between him and the Avengers. But apparently Steve had fucked off to DC for an unknown length of time, and someone had to deal with this and it looked like that someone was going to have to be him.

The fact that he apparently interrupted a weirdly domestic moment between Natasha and Clint wasn’t going to stop him

“So you’re telling me that you lied to a brainwashed veteran and his best friend for months, and now you’re trying to convince me that it was the right thing to do.”

Clint held his hands up in surrender, still not so much as looking at Sam from his new perch on the back of the couch. “I had nothing to do with any of this. I just made sure he was hydrated the first week he was here. And we already got this shovel talk from Steve before he left.” He gestured vaguely to the carpet leading up to the elevator that looked noticeably newer than anything else.

Steve had left out the whole property damage part of the ordeal when they were talking.

“Well apparently it didn't get through if you’re still being flippant about it. Seriously, you’re lucky the fallout wasn’t worse than it was.”

Natasha didn't look up from the apple she was peeling for… whatever they were baking, and Sam was pretty sure the knife was her way of trying to intimidate him into dropping the conversation.

It wasn’t going to work.

“Look. You don’t want to tell Bucky that he’s Bucky and let it come back to him on its own? Fine, whatever. Probably a decent idea. You want to hide it from Steve on top of that? That’s where you fucked up.”

“He wasn’t going to--”

“I don’t give a damn how badly he was going to take it,” Sam interrupted, levelling a glare at Natasha. “You probably fucked up Bucky’s recovery the second he found out like that. And on top of that, you’re going to be lucky if either he or Steve forgive you guys after that stunt. If you guys were  _ really _ worried about Bucky’s head, one of you would have tried to get him to a licensed professional who would know what they were doing.”

“I wouldn’t have seen a ‘licensed professional’ when I was first coming out of brainwashing. And I think I know what that’s like better than they would.”

“Nat, I was tasked with physically dragging you to see SHIELD’s doctors on a daily basis. You went even if you hated it, refused to talk to them for months,  _ and  _ put three agents in the hospital in the process.”

Clint’s words almost caught Sam off guard mostly because, the way Steve talked, he didn't make a habit of speaking against Nat or arguing with her over the big things.

He was going to take it as a good sign that he was deigning to do it now regardless of that.

Her jaw tightened, though she didn't look up from the apple. It was a little uncanny just how neatly it was peeled.

“He’s not you,” he added, much softer now. “I get that you’ve got the whole ‘super protective mother hen’ thing going on, but I think we’ve proved that your idea was a bad one. It’s time to let go and figure out what to do next.”

Natasha almost glared at Clint for a moment before letting the knife clatter unceremoniously to the counter. “It doesn’t matter now, since we don’t know where he even is anymore.”

Sam frowned. Of course they knew where they were. Steve called him yesterday about how Tony got them his old apartment back.

Unless Steve hadn’t told the rest of them.

And Sam wasn’t paid enough to deal with it.

He wasn’t even paid by these people to begin with.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe he was the one who needed new friends, as well as Steve. “Ok. I’m guessing that’s why Steve’s in the wind too. So you fucked up, lost an Avenger,  _ and _ lost the Winter Soldier in one fell swoop. Great.”

“They can take care of themselves. I’m not worried.”

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve heard in weeks, Romanoff.” Sam sighed. This was probably the least productive trip to New York he could have possibly made. The only thing that made it worthwhile was the fact that Stark had taken one look at him, and had basically informed him that he was going to make Sam new, better wings.

The guy was a lot less intimidating in person, but also a lot more manic than Sam had envisioned so there was that.

“All right, so at least  _ one _ of you seems to have an understanding of what went wrong here. I’m going to leave it to him to explain it to you, Nat.”

There was something almost murderous in her gaze, but he’d actually seen her when she was about to kill someone and it was far more calculated than this.

Sam almost definitely shouldn’t have felt as smug over that as he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that there was weird fanfic-y elements going on in Endgame? Because that was A Ride and I have Feelings about it. You can rant about that in the comments if you please. I may or may not write a fix it once I finish this up
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed, concrit is always appreciated, and I definitely enjoy hearing from you all. Thank you so much for reading <3


	14. Chapter 14

Even after trying to sort out what the two of them were to each other, or where the two of them were even going, it still felt like they were on tenuous ground at best.

It wasn’t entirely Steve’s fault. He got the sense that, even if his answers had been less than definitive, he was being about as honest as he could about it.

The problem is ‘more than friends, but we didn't put a name to it’ left a whole lot of options. And while Steve looked almost like a deer in headlights when he’d pressed their lips together, Bucky got the impression that it was more because he was trying so hard  _ not _ to react than anything else.

Bucky could appreciate that, at least. Steve was seemingly trying to be mindful while Bucky tested the familiarity of the gesture.

And--Christ. It had felt so familiar. Like some sort of long-forgotten habit. The shape of Steve’s lips under his was like coming home.

But nothing seemed to have changed after that, even if Steve said they would try. The frustration he felt over it was almost as familiar as the way Steve had gone still under the kiss.

Bucky got the sense that, maybe, it had been like that the first time too. Which was wildly incongruent with how he seemed to command people with his presence alone.

At least Steve hadn’t gotten entirely skittish of him, though Bucky couldn’t quite say the same for himself. He still wasn’t sure how close he could get, or where the line of ‘too much’ was. Old anxieties seemed to be bubbling up, making him unsure how much Steve even  _ wanted _ .

Maybe that was why Steve was being indecisive. He was feeding off Bucky’s energy.

It was easier when Steve was asleep. Not that Bucky thought he was doing anything untoward or unwanted just by watching him, or letting himself get close, but it was easier to just  _ exist  _ this close when Steve wasn’t second guessing himself.

Steve was almost uncomfortably pretty when he wasn’t worrying over everything. When the furrow of his brow smoothed out and his expression softened. It was easier to see the resemblance between him now and who Bucky recognized as Steve before the army came in and experimented on him.

The effect wasn’t quite ruined when he was first waking up, blinking a little blearily though he was quick to get at least somewhat upright.

Bucky, on the other hand, was learning the beauty of staying in bed as long as possible.

“I’m going to run to the store today,” Steve said quietly, almost indulgently looking down at Bucky. Hesitating before smoothing out a few errant tangles of Bucky’s hair. “Do you want me to pick you up anything special?”

Realistically, Bucky could just turn over, pick out some mundane thing before trying to get more sleep, and Steve would probably get it without a second thought while being overly excited when he brought it home.

With a sigh, Bucky instead grasped Steve’s shoulder, and tugged him back down to the mattress. Tucking himself beneath Steve’s chin. “You’re not leaving for a good fifteen minutes, Rogers. Gets cold when you’re gone.”

There was no resistance, but Bucky didn't expect there to be any. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. It felt almost like Steve was just going along with what Bucky wanted with no regard to how he might feel about the whole thing.

Which was a little disheartening to think about, if he was being honest with himself. Maybe this was why Natasha didn't want him to know--because she thought Steve would bend over backwards for him regardless of his own wants and needs. The thought made something rankle uncomfortably in his throat.

Except Steve had been edging closer to him beforehand, too. Maybe not towards anything like an actual relationship, but. Steve had pet his hair when he was going through withdrawals, had thoroughly scent-marked him then too. All while cooing absolutely saccharine nonsense at him.

And he’d always come to his floor when Bucky had asked, though apparently JARVIS had informed him that it was at least somewhat urgent a couple of times. Even though it wasn’t, not really.

Steve at least didn't hesitate before wrapping those solid arms around Bucky’s waist, curling around him in a way that was really more endearing than it should have been. Maybe his defenses were too far down to be overthinking this, which Bucky was grateful for.

“Tell me something,” Bucky requested quietly. “Doesn’t matter if I’d remember it or not.”

There was a moment’s pause, but it didn't feel stifling or stressful.

Actually, a lot of Bucky’s uncertainty had faded since leaving the Tower. He wasn’t quite comfortable enough to leave the building yet, but it felt like he didn't need to walk on eggshells as much now. Unlike Natasha and Tony, Bucky was pretty confident in his ability to predict Steve’s reactions to things.

“You used to try and use me to keep your hands warm. Which never made sense to me since I was the one who  _ actually  _ ran cold between the two of us back then.”

It was more mundane than Bucky had maybe expected. But then, maybe early mornings weren’t the time for big, deep reveals anyways.

“And now you’re practically a human radiator, which I’m sure I would’ve appreciated at the time.”

Steve scoffed, breath washing over Bucky’s shoulder even if he could barely feel it. The false nerves by the joint were the least sensitive of them all. “You apparently appreciate it now, too.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. It probably wasn’t really the same. And he got the vague impression that Steve used to have icicle feet that he used to try and use Bucky to warm, but he wasn’t certain enough to bring it up.

And, more the point, it wasn’t something that actually mattered anyways. He could live without knowing for sure if that was real or not.

“If you hated it, you would’ve tried to get us another bed.”

That got a low hum, the arms around him tightening for a brief moment. “I don’t mind. I feel better when I can check to make sure you’re still here.”

Bucky frowned a bit, brow furrowing. Did Steve expect him to take off in the middle of the night? They had been here for a couple weeks now; it would have made more sense for him to have left long before now. Hell, if he was going to leave, he probably would have done it right after blowing up the HYDRA base, or after getting more suppressants.

“I’m not going anywhere. I wouldn’t know where to go if I tried.”

“And I’m not entirely convinced that I’ll wake up one day to find that I dreamed this all up, and you were never here to begin with.”

That wasn’t something Bucky had really stopped to consider, and Bucky was fairly certain his heart dropped. He should have thought about it; he’d seen the way Steve looked at him when the mask first came away.

There was something vulnerable in the moment, tenuous. As if the wrong word or gesture would hurt more than it normally should.

He pressed his own hand over Steve’s heart, belatedly realizing that the cool metal probably wasn’t all that reassuring. At least there was a thin layer of cotton between it and Steve’s skin. “I’m here,” he said softly, barely a whisper. “End of the line, right? I’m not going anywhere on you.”

There was something almost wet about Steve’s huff of laughter, even as he pressed his face into Bucky’s shoulder.

It couldn’t be comfortable. He wasn’t pressed against Bucky’s good side.

“Yeah, Buck. I trust you on that one.”

Warmth unexpectedly pooled in his chest, heating up his cheeks. It was a little ridiculous. It wasn’t like he’d even said anything profound, but--

_ I trust you _ .

Christ. It felt a little bigger than it probably should have.

* * *

“Ok, so bad news is Nat knows you found him.”

Steve sighed, trying not to pinch the bridge of his nose. While he had little doubt that Bucky was probably aware that Steve was talking to Tony, he’d rather not worry him with things like this. He was just grateful that Bucky hadn’t seemed wary about the phone call coming in well after dark.

It was strange to be talking to Tony on a regular basis again. Granted, the fact that their conversations would only take about five minutes once a week probably helped that.

The fact that Tony hadn’t been the one to plan out the whole fiasco of hiding Bucky’s identity was  _ more  _ helpful, even if that fact didn't get him off the hook entirely.

Besides, Steve liked knowing what was going on back in New York more than he hated how much this felt like Tony trying to mother hen him from across state lines.

“Is there good news to go along with that?”

Bucky looked at him questioningly, but didn't so much as move from the pile of blankets he’d buried himself in on the opposite side of the couch.

He made a vague motion, and was at least somewhat pleased when Bucky just shrugged and turned back to the book in his hands. A cheap sci-fi thing Steve had picked up on a whim, remembering that Bucky had used to devour things like that.

It didn't look like that had changed much.

“The good news is, I’m not the one who let it slip, and also that she doesn’t seem to be looking for either of you. Which is probably for the best, considering that she knows you lived there before. And I’m pretty sure that was a bad move on your part, but I’m not enough of a hypocrite to try and talk you out of it.”

“You gave out your address on public television to taunt a terrorist once, Tones. You have no room to talk to me about poor housing decisions.”

That actually got a bit of alarm to sharpen and burn the salt-brine scent, catching Steve’s attention immediately.

So much for not worrying Bucky.

He reached across the couch, feeling over the covers until he was pretty sure he was grasping Bucky’s ankle. “It’s fine. Threat’s been neutralized and the house doesn’t actually exist anymore.”

That at least seemed to somewhat mollify Bucky, who turned back to his book with a mutter of how he seemed to ‘attract bullheaded morons like flies, Jesus Christ’. Steve shouldn’t have been as charmed by that as he was, probably. It just felt too much like Bucky from ‘43 to be anything  _ but  _ charming to him.

“Aw, is he worried about me?” Tony asked, borderline cooing that would have sounded more condescending if it had come from anyone else. “Anyway. Sam came by to defend you guys. He does the ‘Captain America is Disappointed in You’ look almost as good as you do. It’s unnerving.”

“Is there anything else?” Steve asked, hoping to get Tony off whatever tangent he was on. Making a mental note to thank Sam later.

“Aside from the fact that his new arm is still ready to go? Which you both knew? That’s about all I’ve got right now. I’m mostly making sure the two of you are still alive and roughly where I left you.”

“Tony--”

“Someone has to be concerned about this, and I know better than to think it’s going to be you, Cap.”

“There isn’t even anything to be concerned  _ about _ . Everything’s fine. We’re…” He chanced a quick look at Bucky. While he wasn’t  _ obviously  _ listening, Steve had no doubt he was paying close attention to the conversation. “We’re working it out.”

There was a disbelieving hum on the other end, and Steve wasn’t sure why he was so defensive just from hearing that. It wasn’t like Tony was outright saying it was a terrible idea. But it felt a little implied regardless.

“If you come back with matching mating bites, Bruce owes me twenty bucks.”

Heat rushed to his face, mortified and resolutely not looking at Bucky on the off chance he either heard, or could read it on Steve’s face. “Goodbye, Tony,” he said a little too loudly, hanging up before any retort could be made.

If nothing else, Bucky seemed amused. Whether he heard Tony or not, Steve could practically feel him grinning.

Good to know that, apparently, Bucky still enjoyed Steve’s misery all these years later.

“What got you so flustered so fast?” Bucky asked, not looking up from his book.

At this point, Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t actually reading it.

“Just Tony being Tony. It’s nothing to worry about.”

It wasn’t enough of a lie that Steve felt guilty over it. If anything, it was just stretching the truth a little for Steve’s own comfort. Not really morally questionable, in his opinion. The only repercussion to Bucky finding out was that he’d just make fun of Steve even more than if he’d admitted it outright.

And, honestly, it  _ wasn’t _ anything to worry about anyways. And it  _ was _ just Tony being Tony.

Bucky quirked a brow, making it pretty obvious that he didn't fully believe Steve.

Though, he looked calm regardless. No panic or worry. Just the same, almost smug look that he’d worn since 1937 whenever he’d catch Steve being almost embarrassed over something or other.

It felt more like home than it really should, especially considering that Bucky probably didn't actively remember any of that. Just muscle memory. Reflexes.

But it was also a sign, to Steve, that it was still Bucky. Regardless of what he did or didn't remember, regardless of the seventy years that had passed, and what HYDRA had done. It was still him.

Steve wasn’t entirely sure if now was the time to put that into words, though. Later, maybe.

“Is the book any good?” he asked, changing the subject with absolutely no subtlety.

At least Bucky let it slide, taking pity on Steve. “I don’t think it’s  _ good _ , but it’s fun to read.”

And, well, that wasn’t quite his stance on this kind of thing before, but Steve also hadn’t read a lot of the books he brought to Bucky himself, so maybe it was more that this one in particular wasn’t good, rather than his tastes having changed over the years.

Neither one of those would be a problem. Steve wasn’t sure why he was getting hung up on it, considering how little it really mattered.

“Tony said the arm’s still there, if you want to replace the one that you have.”

Belatedly, though, Steve realized he hadn’t really been looking to see if the arm was hurting him like Tony thought. He’d catch Bucky grimace from time to time as he rolled his shoulders, but as far as he could tell there weren’t any obvious malfunctions or issues. The plates moved and shifted as fluidly as he’d ever seen them.

While Steve could pretend he didn't watch in a sort of half-appropriate awe when the plates rippled and recalibrated as Bucky stretched it out, sometimes he knew Bucky caught him.

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, since shutters seemed to close behind his eyes. “I don’t want to go back there right now.”

Right. Stupid proposition. He knew that Bucky wanted to stay away from them for now, but he wasn’t sure… He’d taken Steve contacting Tony with relative ease, so he’d wondered if maybe he’d be comfortable going back just to switch out the arm.

“All right, Buck. It’s your call.”

“Damn right it is,” Bucky muttered. Then, after a brief pause, “I don’t know if you’re saying that kinda thing to placate me, or if it’s just your way of being sweet.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Placate you?”

Vulnerability shone through the wall, but only a hint. Just in the way that his teeth sunk into his lip for a brief moment. “This whole thing… I don’t know if you’re doing it to make me feel better, or if you genuinely mean it. Because you know I’m only barely him, don’t remember most anything at this point, but you just… Here you are, willing to play house to whatever level I ask you to.”

Something about the phrasing grated on his nerves a bit, bringing his shoulders up a little defensively. “I wouldn’t have followed you if I didn't want to be here. And I don’t care what you do or don’t remember, you’re still--” Forcing himself to stop, Steve had to swallow around the lump forming in his throat. “I’m here because you asked me to be here. But I followed you because  _ I _ wanted to. I’ll do whatever you ask, be whoever you want, and yeah. Part of that is because of you. But a lot of who I am and what I’ve done has always been because of you, so I don’t know what to tell you there.”

Bucky didn't look up from his book, though Steve doubted he was actually processing the words in front of him. Using it as a shield more than anything. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re still a stubborn little punk, and you’d be following me around simply because it’s me. Is that right?”

That didn't sound any better than what he’d originally said. What was worse was the fact that Steve couldn’t even deny it. “I followed you into a war, Buck. Did you really expect me to stop now?”

A small furrow between his brows was about all the reaction Bucky showed. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. “I know that’s not entirely true. But I don’t know which part you’re lying about.”

All right, maybe stretching that particular truth a bit probably wasn’t smart. “I… Ok, I followed you into an obscure enemy prisoner camp  _ during  _ the war. Better?”

That got Bucky to blink a bit, hands tightening on the book as his eyes unfocused for a brief moment. “You were wearing tights. The shield was different.”

Warmth filled his chest, almost ridiculously given the fact that they were such mundane details.

Or maybe it was more special that he was remembering the mundane details. It meant the little things were coming back, if nothing else.

“Yeah. That’s right. Don’t think you really let me live down the tights thing. Told the rest of the guys, too.”

Only now did Steve notice the frustration Bucky had carried, but only after it melted away back into a soft sort of amusement. “You didn't seem to mind so much, if you’re admitting to it now.”

Steve rolled his eyes, settling deeper into the couch. Nudging his feet into Bucky’s thigh. “I was never a good liar, Buck. You’d give me more shit for it later if I tried to deny it now.”

The small smile that crinkled Bucky’s eyes was more than enough of an answer. And it was so hard not to fall back into old habits and lean across the couch to kiss him.

Things were getting better, yes. That didn't mean Steve knew what was and wasn’t all right between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's weird to consider that we're getting close to the end. I did update the chapter count, and I believe that should be the official number, barring anything unexpected happening. Which it shouldn't considering, you know. I'm only a couple thousand words away from finishing.
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading this and I hope you're enjoying it. I really appreciate your comments and kudos <3


	15. Chapter 15

Apparently ‘Tony being Tony’ involved receiving gift baskets from him that were addressed to both him and Steve that he wasn’t allowed to look at.

Well. ‘Wasn’t allowed’ was a bit of a stretch. It wasn’t like Steve had ordered him not to look, or even implied anything like that. All that had really happened was Steve opened it, immediately turned red all the way down his neck, closed the box and resolutely didn't look at Bucky on his way out the door. Not saying a single word the entire time.

The whole thing shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was, but he got the feeling that was a common sentiment for him to have. Hopefully it didn't become more prevalent, because that would just get frustrating after a while.

Though, Steve did fish something out of the box for Bucky before he had left, ostensibly to go to the store so he could pretend he had an excuse for walking out. Another pack of suppressants. Enough to last almost a year, if his guess was right.

Bucky was pretty sure that wasn’t the thing that had scandalized him, at least. He hadn’t raised a fuss over the last pack, and Bucky was pretty sure that medication in general didn't faze him in the slightest.

Vaguely, he was aware that it was probably because he had been on so many different medications himself before the serum cured all of his illnesses, chronic and otherwise.

Of course, that meant while Steve was gone for an undetermined amount of time, Bucky had to see what Tony had sent to them.

He only sort of regretted it. That didn't stop him from storing the variety of condoms, lubricant, and series of phallic looking objects in Steve’s nightstand.

It was strange. There was no fear of retribution. No worries of what Steve might do when he found out.

He wasn’t sure if it was because it was  _ Steve _ , or if it had more to do with the fact that Steve had never really tried to do anything against him. Not in the series of faded scraps of memory, nor--more importantly, in Bucky’s opinion--at any point when he had been living in the Tower under the name ‘Djenya’.

Either way, it was… nice, honestly. It was nice not having to second guess himself all the time. Steve had proven that he’d just tell Bucky straight out whatever it was he asked. There was no subterfuge.

It felt like months had passed. Bucky still hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to leave the building, but he felt like he was getting at least a little bolder when it came to Steve.

The fact that they shared a bed was at least a little helpful on that front.

Now, when Steve finally came home, Bucky felt sure of himself enough to gently tug him down so that he could tuck himself into Steve’s shoulder for a brief moment. Just catching his scent and letting it ground him.

Like almost everything else about Steve, it reminded him of a home he still struggled to remember. But it got a little easier every day.

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Steve said softly as Bucky pulled away. “Sorry, I just. Tony’s a lot, sometimes.”

“Captain America got so scared of some sex toys that he had to leave his own apartment,” Bucky deadpanned. He padded back to the couch, trying not to grin at how quickly Steve started sputtering over that. “It’s fine, Stevie. It’s not like you have to be here with me all the time.”

Strangely enough, it wasn’t met with an immediate retort or some sort of earnest comment about  _ wanting  _ to be around Bucky all the time.

When he glanced over, Steve had him pinned with a soft, sad sort of look. “You should come with me sometime. You don’t have to be here all the time either.”

That wasn’t even close to what Bucky had expected to hear. But at the same time, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was surprised either. It wasn’t like it was the first time Steve had asked, after all. “Because it’s definitely safe to have a former HYDRA assassin wandering around in the open.”

Not that anyone had really given him much of a second look either time he’d been out after Project Insight. Everyone had looked at him either with some measure of vague pity, or had looked right through him altogether. And while both served his purposes at the time, he didn't particularly want to subject himself to it either.

“No one will know it’s you, Buck. And if they do, I can keep you safe.”

Bucky snorted. It was such an Alpha thing to say.

No--it was such a  _ Steve _ thing to say.

Sure, there was the underlying fear that HYDRA would find him and make him forget all over again, but considering that they hadn’t immediately descended on him after he blew up one of their buildings… He hadn’t even left the area, really, and there hadn’t been any sign of anyone even remotely suspicious coming around.

Bucky was fairly certain that if they were trying to find him, they probably would have done so by now.

But, more the point… “I’m not your damsel in distress, pal.”

Steve’s shoulders curled in on themselves, managing to make himself look sheepish without having to do anything more than that. “I know you’re not. I just…”

Bucky couldn’t help take a small amount of pity on him. After all, he’d spent a good amount of time ribbing him today as it was. Good-natured as it had been.

Though, it felt almost easier than breathing to do that. More reflex without him actively remembering what caused it.

“I know. You just got a bit of a protective streak in you, ‘s all.”

There was an almost sort of helplessness to his shrug that Bucky found to be almost sweet. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped in here.”

Bucky couldn’t quite help the smile tugging at his lips. Maybe this was why he’d felt so compelled to stay by Steve so much, even before they both knew. Steve had this knack for saying the right thing when he needed to.

“I’ll think about it. It’s not that I feel like I can’t leave, it’s just…” Bucky wasn’t sure if he should actually put it into words, really. He got the feeling that Steve would be indignant if he thought that Bucky didn't feel like he deserved to leave.

He swallowed thickly, gaze dropping. This all felt easier not even a minute ago.

Sensing the shift in mood, Steve put down the single bag of things he  _ did _ bring home--likely to make the ruse of needing to go out shopping look plausible--and settled himself on the opposite side of the couch. Palm resting heavily on his ankle. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just. It’s something to think about, you know?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into the couch and encroaching further into Steve’s space. “Yeah. I know, Stevie. I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

It never ceased to surprise him how easily Steve’s mood warmed, still smelling just like a city after it rained. Like home.

There was a moment of what looked like indecision before he leaned over the couch, brushing his lips over Bucky’s cheek. “Thanks, Buck.”

And, well, Bucky couldn’t help but be charmed by that either. At least it was probably a little less ridiculous than a lot of other things Steve did that he found himself endeared by.

That didn't stop him from pulling Steve back in to return the favor.

* * *

For all of Bucky’s concerns, it probably shouldn’t have been as easy for Steve to get him outside as it turned out to be. All he had to do was pin Bucky with a  _ look _ . A hopeful, concerned sort of look, and Bucky was putty in his hands.

He ought to be grumpy over it. He certainly was going to act like he was, at least.

It was hard to act annoyed, however, when Steve tentatively threaded his fingers through Bucky’s, gently squeezing the metal appendage as if they were flesh and bone. Such a simple gesture, but it brought warmth to his cheeks as he looked at their twined hands.

While Steve was gentle about it, there was a sort of determination in the set of his mouth all the same. Almost as if this was some sort of mission that they were set on, when it was really just them going to get Bucky something to wear that wasn’t Steve’s, or hadn’t been stolen out of a donation bin.

It probably shouldn’t have been this overwhelming to walk into a store, though, so maybe Steve had the right mindset about this whole thing.

“It wasn’t like this before, was it?” Bucky asked softly, blinking a bit under the fluorescent lights and trying not to be reminded of the various warehouses he used to be stored in. The smell of people and some sort of faint, chemical mix in the air threw him off.

Steve, at least, seemed more comfortable, guiding Bucky through the racks upon racks of clothing. “God, no. First time I went shopping in this century, I about had a heart attack. You should see the amount of different fruits they have year round now.”

Vaguely, Bucky remembered picking through a measly selection of bruised apples, cheap because they were about to go bad, but there were possibly enough for him to make a pie for Steve’s birthday.

“So this…” He gestured vaguely to the store, the people milling about who occasionally stopped to give Steve a funny look. “This is just how things are now.”

“Hate to tell you, but yeah.”

Bucky grimaced, shoulders raising as he looked at the seemingly endless racks of clothes. As if he could make himself disappear from sight like that, even though he honestly knew better.

A warm palm smoothed between his shoulders, and Bucky instinctively loosened at the touch.

“Hey,” Steve said softly. “We can go back if it’s too much, Buck. It’s not a big deal.”

Of course he’d try and pull the whole placating thing. Some part of Bucky wanted so badly to admit defeat, to go back to the apartment, and bundle himself under the blankets. It wasn’t rational, though. And Bucky wasn’t about to give up on something as petty as clothes shopping. He’d been a world renowned assassin, for fuck’s sake. Willing or not, and even if he didn't remember large chunks of it, it still counted for something.

“I’m fine, Stevie,” he insisted, barely resisting the urge to shrug him off. It was nice. And he knew Steve wasn’t actually trying to be condescending. “I don’t particularly want to  _ stay _ here, but you’re probably tired of me stealing your clothes all the time.”

While he was pretty sure Steve didn't  _ actually _ mind--Bucky was well aware of how he’d look at Bucky sometimes when he would wear Steve’s things--it still felt like he probably shouldn't do it constantly.

There was a lot of trial and error involved in Bucky picking things out. It didn't take long for him to figure out the weird chemical scent was coming off the clothes themselves, and he couldn’t quite figure out  _ why _ no one else seemed to be bothered by it. The sheer volume of items was bad enough, but Bucky had his hands on a soft sweater and happened to check the price tag attached to it.

Bucky refused to believe that it cost forty dollars. That was about what their rent had been, and he clearly remembered struggling to pay  _ that _ from month to month.

As if he knew exactly what Bucky was thinking, Steve took the tag, covering Bucky’s hand with his own. “It’s just inflation, Buck. Breathe nice and slow for me, all right?”

Belatedly, he realized the two of them were starting to draw the wrong sort of attention. The kind that Omegas seemed to draw when they were visibly distressed in public. People started to look at them uncomfortably, prompting Bucky to follow Steve’s instructions regardless of how ridiculous it sounded.

Money felt like a weird thing to panic over these days. At least, compared to a lot of the other nightmares he’d dealt with.

Still, it took almost embarrassingly long before the tightness in his chest subsided. He put the sweater back all the same.

“Wrong color?” Steve asked, filing through the racks to at least pretend that he wasn’t hovering. Still keeping closer than arm’s length.

“Don’t think it’s nice enough to be worth that much, inflation or not.”

Steve hummed sympathetically.

Had it been anyone else, Bucky would suspect he was being patronizing. Even if it was Steve, it was pretty coddling.

“Yeah. It’s gonna be hard to find something much cheaper, though. And if it  _ is _ cheaper, it’s just gonna fall apart on you in a year’s time.”

In spite of the annoyance at himself, at least Bucky had the sense to realize Steve had done this exact same thing. Except he’d had to do it without Bucky.

He hoped that he had someone nice to guide him through the whole future thing. He deserved that much, even if the thought set off a pang of jealousy.

“Well, at least  _ that _ hasn’t changed,” Bucky muttered, reaching out to touch the sweater again.

It  _ was _ soft. And he liked how it felt between his fingers.

Bucky caved, pulling the sweater back out and draping it over his arm. Hopefully if he didn't look at the price, it would be all right. He was going to trust Steve with the budget for this excursion.

There was a weird pit of guilt at that thought. Belatedly, he realized that Steve was spending a ridiculous amount of money on things for the apartment, and he wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to him earlier.

Maybe it was all Tony’s money. Considering the building he seemed to own, he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he was richer than God.

In spite of Bucky trying not to worry about it, he couldn’t quite get it off his mind. Steve convinced him to leave the store with at least a small selection of clothes of his own, and Bucky couldn’t quite unsee the total price of it all. Several hundred dollars for a few pairs of jeans, a couple sweaters, t shirts, and a new set of underwear.

Steve’s palm settled warmly on his lower back, smiling gratefully at the cashier as he took the bags in his other hand.

“All right, Bucky. We’re done for the day,” he said, hopefully too low for the other customers to hear.

Bucky probably felt more grateful for that than he should. It was hard not to feel a little weak, considering that a few hours out of the apartment was apparently so difficult. He couldn’t figure out why, though, it was so much more draining than the weeks he had spent living on the streets.

* * *

It was entirely possible that Steve might have pushed too hard.

He’d considered the shopping trip to be rather successful, especially considering that Steve’s first experience in a modern store had ended with a panic attack that had scared the poor SHIELD lackey that was stuck with him nearly to death.

Except Bucky didn't even leave their bed the next day.

As far as Steve could tell, he hadn’t had any nightmares. He’d just sort of… stared blankly, right past Steve, for several minutes before pulling the covers up over his head. Grumbling about how he wasn’t getting out of bed yet.

That had been several hours ago and Steve was getting worried. Not quite to the point where he wanted to call Sam for advice, but it was a near thing.

It was hopefully fine. Hopefully he was just worn out from people, which wasn’t particularly a thing the old Bucky had ever seemed to deal with, but it had been a long time since then. They’d both been through a lot, and it wasn’t something Steve had to consciously remind himself of. He could easily see the ways that Bucky was different now. He could feel it, sometimes, even though there were so many clear indicators that it  _ was _ still Bucky regardless of those changes.

The fact that Natasha had said to not make Bucky be who he used to be was more frustrating than it should have been. She was right, obviously. But Steve was pretty sure he hadn’t needed to be told that.

And the fact that he was begrudgingly forced to admit to himself that she had been right about  _ anything _ pertaining to Bucky made his skin crawl.

When he poked his head into the room at five, there was no indication that Bucky had even moved, in spite of Steve knowing that he had. He’d pretended not to hear when Bucky skulked out to raid the fridge or visit the bathroom, knowing that if Bucky wanted company, he’d just ask for it.

That said, it felt like Steve should try and feed him a proper meal at some point.

“Buck,” he prompted softly. The relief that coursed through him when Bucky moved was a little ridiculous. “I’m making pancakes. D’you want any?”

There was a slowness to Bucky’s movements as he sat up, propped against the headboard as he blinked at Steve with bleary eyes. There was a small shake of his head, though he tugged the covers down a little bit. “Stay here with me awhile?”

Steve was pretty sure he could feel his heart skip a beat, and there wasn’t a moment’s hesitation before he was edging closer to the bed.

While it wasn’t quite fair to say that Bucky instantly gravitated towards him, he did slump down a little onto Steve’s shoulder.

“Want to talk about it?” Steve asked softly, grasping Bucky’s hand.

It wasn’t a familiar gesture, really. They hadn’t had that sort of relationship before, where they were affectionate in public.

They could have been. In spite of the fact that Bucky was a bit tall for an Omega, and Steve was very obviously a runt, no one would have done more than turn up their nose at Steve for it. And they tended to do that anyways.

Part of him hoped that this was them making up for lost time. That maybe Bucky wanted this as much as Steve.

Bucky shook his head, slowly edging down until his head was resting on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m just tired, Stevie. That’s all.”

Steve was almost certain there was more to it than that. But while he’d answer or clarify anything that Bucky asked him to, he wasn’t about to start trying to nagging him or offering things just because he could.

And he was pretty sure that if he tried and got Bucky to eat something proper, while it would probably help at least a little bit, it would probably just get a lot of irritated sighing out of Bucky the entire time.

It was an odd line to try and walk. To try and help Bucky without smothering him. He was never entirely sure if he was doing it right.

So for now, all he did was slowly guide Bucky to lay back down, head in Steve’s lap so that he could pet his hair. Occasionally brushing his thumb along the delicate scent gland beneath his jaw.

The dark waves were a lot less tangled this time than it had been the first time, but Bucky turned to putty the exact same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that progress, messy as it can get. They're getting somewhere, bit by bit, and I can promise there's a happy ending at the end of all of it. I love my angst, but there's a limit, you know? I want it to be worth something at the end of the day
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone for reading, and I absolutely adore your comments, kudos, etc


	16. Chapter 16

It was at least a dreamless sleep that Bucky woke up from, though he couldn’t be certain at what point he’d dozed off to begin with.

The nightmares hadn’t gotten less frequent, but at least it felt like he was handling them better now than he had at the start. He didn't feel the need to seek out company to reassure him that everything was all right and that it was all in the past.

Or, maybe he did, but the fact that Steve offered that kind of thing almost constantly just meant he didn't need to go looking for it.

He wasn’t entirely sure if he was now waiting for the other shoe to drop, or if he was actually recovering. He also wasn’t sure if the two were mutually exclusive.

Though, he wondered if he stopped worrying, that would be when something would inevitably go wrong.

But for now, he was willing to take this at face value. Waking up with Steve’s hand carding through his hair, humming lowly under his breath. Barely audible, and all the sweeter for it.

He stayed still, not sure he wanted to disrupt anything by moving. The low light indicated that it was probably closer to eight or nine at night now, though he wasn’t sure how late in the day it had been when Steve came in to check on him. Late afternoon, probably. “You didn't have to stay,” he said softly.

Steve’s hand didn't pause, still brushing through the long locks. “I’ve always been bad at leaving you.”

Something about that made his heart swell a bit, different from the sort of melancholy he felt when Steve had expressed the same sentiment upon finding Bucky in the abandoned building.

He could let himself think that it wasn’t out of obligation that he’d set himself on Bucky. It was just how he was wired.

Which made it even odder that they apparently hadn’t put a name to whatever it was they had done before the war.

And, all right, he believed that Steve meant it when he said he didn't want to leave Bucky a young widow. Even after the serum there was a risk for that, considering that they were in the middle of a war and almost constantly in the line of fire.

But he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t tried either. Did he subconsciously know Steve was right? Was he too afraid of potential rejection?

Worse: did Bucky just not feel this way before now?

Of course they hadn’t even put a name to it  _ now _ , properly. Didn't even do a lot of what he would deem ‘dedicated couple things’.

Well. Maybe that was just Bucky being finicky. Because things like this were common, and it certainly didn't feel platonic. Nor did holding hands in public, or the careful chaste kisses they were now getting accustomed to sharing.

It was probably just that Bucky was waiting for something big, even though that wasn’t the kind of thing that actually made a relationship.

Or, more likely, he was just waiting for Steve to  _ admit  _ it was a relationship in the first place. Because while he said they could try, it hadn’t really progressed from there. They hadn’t spoken about it plainly since.

“What’s on your mind, huh?” Steve asked, absently stroking the soft skin behind his ear. Close to his scent glands. “You seem far away.”

Bucky hummed, nuzzling against Steve’s thigh. He should be honest. Steve had done that with him, regardless of how bad the answers sometimes sounded; Bucky owed him the same sort of openness. “Thinking about us, is all. I don’t really know where to go from where we currently are.”

At least Steve didn't shy away, though Bucky was pretty certain that a blush was creeping down his throat. He didn't have to see Steve to be able to picture it.

“We don’t have to do anything. There’s no one way to do this sort of thing.”

It sounded placating. Like Steve was trying to be reassuring, even though it was about the exact opposite of what Bucky had wanted to hear.

“Or we could actually figure out what it is so we don’t have to call it ‘this sort of thing’. I mean… I don’t want to continue just like this for the rest of our lives, Stevie. It’s great; I like it, but it feels like there’s something missing.”

It sounded a little harsh. Like Bucky was issuing ultimatums, when that was really the last thing on his mind right now. He just wanted something like stability. A label for them, even if they probably didn't really need one.

“This feels like a conversation we should have somewhere that’s not our bed.” There was a wryness to his tone, but Bucky took comfort in the hint of amusement there as well. Nothing approaching frustration, or like Steve was upset.

“I’m not going to jump your bones just because you decide we’re boyfriends,” Bucky muttered a little petulantly. “And even if I was, being in the kitchen probably wouldn’t stop me.”

“You sure, Buck? Because I can think of at least one time you got hot after talking about feelings.”

That didn't sound overly familiar. Bucky’s brow furrowed, and while he was pretty sure that Steve’s teasing was fairly honest, it didn't jog any sort of memory.

Even though it sounded like something he would have done, regardless of him being unable to think of any examples.

“Just tell me we’re boyfriends and we can move onto the other part of this whole thing.”

Steve’s huff of laughter brought an unbidden smile to his lips, and Steve’s fingers trailed to press against the scent gland, making Bucky’s eyes flutter shut. “I don’t want to push you into anything physical, Buck. And I never properly courted anyone in my life, so I don’t know where to go except back to where we started.”

Absently, Bucky wondered if  _ he’d  _ ever been courted before. If he’d strung along a series of people, only to stay by Steve’s side instead.

“How about we just assume that you’re not pushing me into anything, and see where it goes from there. Because I can  _ feel _ you second guessing yourself a lot, and it’s not helping either of us.”

It was weird to say that, considering that his head was currently on Steve’s lap, and Steve’s hand was over one of his scent glands. That didn't make it any less true, considering that Steve had also spent a good amount of time looking like he wanted to do something, only to recede back into himself or his sketches.

“I don’t know if that’s--”

“Steve, I’m asking you to trust my judgment here,” Bucky cut him off. “I get that you’re concerned, but I know what I am and am not comfortable with.”

Or. He’d know it when he was faced with it, at least. But so far Steve hadn’t come close to crossing any sort of line. If anything, Bucky had been the one to push a little too far.

The pause felt heavy, though Steve continued to absently stroke the delicate skin beneath his jaw. Bucky was taking it as a good sign that he hadn’t retracted yet, or tried to put any space between them.

“Yeah,” he said, after what felt like far too long. “Yeah, I trust you.”

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t quite realized he’d been holding. All right. That was a good step. It felt like more of  a relief than maybe it should, but it still warmed something in his chest just to hear it out loud. “I’ll try not to steer you wrong.”

It was a bit teasing. Lighter, as if that would help the seriousness of the mood that had settled over them.

But of course Steve had to somewhat derail that. “You haven’t done that yet. I’d say I’m in good hands with you.”

Heat rushed to his cheeks, absurdly pleased but almost embarrassed all the same.

It wasn’t… Absently, he was aware that he’d spent a lot of years dragging Steve kicking and screaming away from a bunch of his own bad decisions, so there was at last weight behind Steve’s assessment.

“Yeah, you fucking sap,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes even though Steve wouldn’t be able to see him do it. It was easier to do that than to actually address it.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t tried to define it either, when they were younger. It was just easier to deflect.

In spite of the fact that they had  _ just _ talked about it, Bucky was caught off guard when Steve leaned down, turning Bucky’s head so he could press their lips together. Waiting for a beat in case Bucky wanted to push him away before barely dipping his tongue in, slow and languid before breaking it off.

“Your fucking sap,” Steve said, something almost smug in the curl of his lips that Bucky almost wanted to pull him back for just to get a taste of it.

He was pretty confident he wasn’t imagining the warmth in Steve’s voice. Bucky would be lying if he said it didn't inspire the same in him.

* * *

Something occurred to him probably far later than maybe it should have.

“You’re not on suppressants.”

Steve paused, hand on the doorknob and small bag of baked goods in the other. “No?” he said slowly, closing the door behind him. “I never liked how they made me feel, so after the ice I didn't go back on them.”

Bucky looked at him, considering. It had never struck him as something he should ask. The scent was familiar as it was, and it took longer than maybe it should have to realize that there should be a muted sort of flatness to it if he was on suppressants like Bucky was.

And he wouldn’t be going through ruts if he was on them, either.

Vaguely, he wondered if he should be concerned with trying to help Steve through his rut when he wouldn’t be going through an accompanying heat. But he wasn’t about to go off his suppressants either, not with those withdrawal symptoms. And he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to lose himself to his own heats like that either. The loss of control sounded frankly terrifying.

“Is that a problem?” Steve asked, when Bucky failed to verbalize any kind of response to that.

It wasn’t like Bucky could reasonably ask Steve to go on them, especially if he hated how he felt on them. Even if it was a problem, Bucky wasn’t about to request that. “I don’t know why it didn't occur to me earlier,” he admitted. “I don’t remember what your ruts were like.”

There hadn’t really been any sort of tightness to Steve’s brow, but there was the distinct sense that it loosened anyways. “I can manage them on my own whenever it turns up again, Buck.”

Bucky huffed, curling up tighter against the edge of the couch. That wasn’t what he’d been aiming for, regardless of his worries. And he pretty sure he was a little miffed at that assumption. “I’m pretty sure I managed them just fine back in Brooklyn,” he muttered, a little petulantly. Hating how it made him sound like he was sulking.

“Doesn’t mean you have to now.” Steve crossed the room, paper bag crinkling as he set it down before kissing the top of Bucky’s head. “It’s probably a long ways off anyways. There’s time to sort out how we want to handle it.”

Steve apparently wasn’t getting the message.

In his defense, Bucky probably wasn’t being overly clear. He doubted that was helping his case all that much. “I want to spend it with you whenever it crops up again. Has nothing to do with the fact that I could do it before.”

At least Steve didn't go bright red this time. Sure, there was a faint pinkness to his cheeks, but Bucky was going to take that as an improvement. “Maybe give it a trial run before that happens, just to be sure.”

It was hard not to scoff at how ridiculous that sounded. But at least it didn't seem like Steve was saying ‘no’. “Well. We’ve got plenty of time, by your estimation. Plenty of time to test it out and see where it goes.”

Steve nodded, glancing between the bag, Bucky, and vaguely towards their room. “Did you want to…”

God, Steve could be a moron sometimes. A smile tugged at his lips, even as he gently kicked at Steve’s knee. “I wasn’t saying right now, you big punk. I’m not sitting here trying to work out a schedule for us fucking.”

“Well how was I supposed to know, when I come home and you start asking questions like that?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, rooting through the bag to pull out a donut with rainbow sprinkles on it. “I’d like to think at least one of us was too romantic to plan something like that out without even any buildup to go along with it. Did neither of us have any sense of foreplay?”

He expected his half-hearted grumbling to get some sort of snark in reply. He hadn’t expected Steve to tuck a lock of Bucky’s hair behind his ear, only to lightly tug the end of the curl. “Yeah, I relied on you for that. You were more or less calling the shots back then.”

Bucky paused, thinking that over. It didn't sound  _ wrong _ , but it also took him by surprise, given how Steve seemed all right taking the reigns a bit, back in the Tower.

But then, he also caved so easily in the abandoned apartment, before they moved here. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation between Bucky telling him to do something, and Steve complying.

“Funny, because I’m pretty sure no one could get you to follow a rule or an order in your life,” he said eventually. Unsure what else to say while he mulled that over.

Maybe it would be better if he tried that again, rather than constantly waiting on Steve to do something. It felt like they were both waiting for a cue from the other, a lot of the time.

“I listened to you at least half the time,” Steve retorted, feigning haughtiness.

“Yeah, because that’s  _ definitely _ something to brag about.”

Still, it was at least somewhat reassuring, in an odd sort of way. The fact that it still wasn’t weird, and that Steve seemed to be settling in more and more as time went on.

Bucky hoped the same could be said for him.

* * *

Steve woke up to Bucky fisting the sheets, brow pinched, and the faint scent of distress in the air. While he was almost positive that Bucky was also still asleep, he wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea to try and wake him up, unsure of how he would react to it.

That didn't stop him from reaching out and resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Belatedly, he realized that was probably a bad idea, on the off chance that Bucky was having a nightmare. He  _ definitely _ didn't want to startle him awake if that was the case.

Thankfully, all Bucky did was shudder and press his face into the pillow.

Steve was pretty sure it was his back hurting him, rather than any sort of nightmare. While Bucky had never  _ said _ anything, he would often catch him rolling his shoulders and grimacing, or trying to pop something in his spine. It had seemed innocuous for a while. When Tony first brought it up, Steve had almost brushed it off entirely, but then he started noticing it happen almost constantly.

He wasn’t sure how long it would take before he called up Tony and asked him to come here to put the new arm on, if Bucky wouldn’t go back up to New York.

“Hey pal,” he said softly, gently squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. Feeling the muscle give way ever so slightly beneath his fingers.

Bucky stirred a bit, grumbling his annoyance at having been woken up, and Steve almost felt a little bad about it.

At least his hands loosened, no longer threatening to tear the pillowcase beneath his fingers.

“I’m not getting out of bed, if that’s what you’re trying to do here.”

Steve hummed, smoothing his palm over to Bucky’s spine.

Christ, it was all knotted up. Why hadn’t Bucky said anything about it?

“Just looked like you were in pain,” he admitted. Pressing gently between his shoulder blades. “You all right?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, rolling them a bit though he didn't pick himself up from the bed at all. “I’ve been worse. You wake me up for that, because I sure as hell wasn’t feeling it before.”

Steve curled in on himself a bit, actually feeling guilty about it now. “I just… I wanted to make sure you weren’t having a nightmare, either.”

Bucky sighed, still sleep-soft, and at least not seeming to be close to upset. Just vaguely disgruntled, but also maybe half awake at best.

Absently, he realized that he was digging his thumb in, rubbing circles just below Bucky’s shoulder blade.

“Well, if you wanna keep doing that, maybe I won’t complain as much,” Bucky said, a slight slur to his words.

While Steve snorted, he didn't make any sort of move to stop. “You’re so spoiled, Buck,” he chided without any real heat.

“Yeah, well that’s your fault.”

And, well, there was that. In spite of the fact that Bucky couldn’t see, Steve rolled his eyes as he shifted. It would be easier if he was on his knees for this; it would give him better leverage. “Maybe I should do something about that, then.”

Now Bucky snorted. “We both know you’re not going to do anything about that, Rogers. You’re too soft on me.”

Privately, Steve was pretty sure he couldn’t be  _ too _ soft on Bucky. But there was always something in him that wanted to coddle and protect him, regardless of the fact that it was impossible to do so.

Impossible for him to do before, at least.

It would probably be easiest to do this if he had one knee on either side of Bucky’s hips, but Steve wasn’t sure where that fell on the ‘acceptability’ scale. Regardless of the fact that Bucky had practically demanded that he stop second guessing himself about this sort of thing, he couldn’t quite help himself.

Instead, he knelt beside Bucky, palms perpendicular to his spine. One between his shoulders and the other on the middle of his back. Then, it was simply a matter of pushing down, trying to work out the plethora of knots and tight muscles that seemed to span his entire back.

Bucky’s reaction was almost instant. He took a shuddering breath, hands fastening in the bedding again, though not nearly as tightly as before.

It almost felt like Steve was trembling a little too, for entirely unrelated reasons.

“You can go back to sleep, if you want,” he said softly, hands working carefully beneath the seam of Bucky’s left arm.

There was a good chance that this would be more effective if Bucky’s shirt was off, or if Steve had something to slick his hands with but he didn't want to stop, didn't want to risk asking. This was fine, for now. Maybe if they did this another time he’d bring it up.

Bucky’s answering hum was low. Steve could feel the vibrations under his hands more than he could hear it. “Should’ve tried to get you to do this a long time ago. You always had good hands.”

Regardless of the fact that it wasn’t even  _ said _ salaciously, Steve couldn’t help the blush rise to his cheeks, grateful that Bucky couldn’t see it to tease him for it.

It wasn’t… Yeah, Bucky had said that kind of thing before. Usually, though, that was when his fingers were buried into him, stretching him open for Steve’s cock. Bucky had always been the one with his hands on Steve’s back, trying to relieve what ache his scoliosis brought on him.

“All you had to do is ask, Buck. Since I’m apparently so soft on you.”

Steve could practically hear his answering grin, in spite of his face still being pressed against the pillow.

Knot by knot started to come undone, leaving Bucky soft and pliant on the bed. Occasionally humming or sighing his contentment as Steve worked on him.

And while it was probably absolutely ridiculous to consider, Steve wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so in tune with Bucky. Not even the times they’d been tied together, plastered to Bucky’s back with both of them trembling for an entirely different reason.

Bucky did seem to fall asleep eventually, breath slowing and a sort of laxness that he’d rarely had while awake. All Steve could do was lean down, pressing his lips over the curve of Bucky’s shoulder before actually getting out of bed. It was morning, after all. The sun was out and he couldn’t just stay here all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I kind of anticipated finishing the writing portion of this fic, like, two or three weeks ago. But it /is/ done, save the editing and it's such a relief. Granted, I immediately started working on a different chaptered stucky fic, so I guess that's just who I am as a person
> 
> As always, thank you so much to everyone for reading, and I appreciate your comments, kudos, etc <3


	17. Chapter 17

Another notebook found its way into Bucky’s growing collection. Some were getting full, but most weren't even halfway there. While he had never asked Steve for another one, he tended to bring a new one in every couple of weeks regardless.

He never asked to see what was in them, either.

“Are you not even the slightest bit curious?” Bucky asked, looking over the top of the notebook he was currently scribbling in.

Steve, for his part, didn't even look up from his sketchbook, brow furrowed in concentration as he seemed to work on the shading of whatever he was doing.

If he was drawing Bucky, he hadn’t asked him to not move at least. Bucky was pretty sure, however, that he was much better at that now than he had been before the war.

“About?”

It was hard not to huff, though Bucky realized he was being at least a little irrational. He was expecting too much; Steve wasn’t a mind reader. “You never ask to look through these. I know you know what they are.”

There was a pause of several seconds before Steve finally looked up at him. There was something almost sad in the tilt of his brow, and the way he settled deeper into the couch cushions.

Bucky was starting to remember how, after the serum, Steve had developed a habit of trying to make himself look small. Nonthreatening.

“It’s not that I don’t want to know,” he said slowly, as if he was choosing his words carefully. “It’s just that… It’s personal to you. And I figured that if you wanted me to know, then you’d tell me yourself.”

Of course it was something reasonable like that. Whatever hint of irritation faded away almost instantly. He looked down at his slightly cramped handwriting, the large margins he left to fill in later. It would be simpler if he just handed it over to Steve and let him read for himself.

The thought of that made him cringe. He didn't want Steve to read about the heart he was so sure he’d held in his bare hands once. How it had pulsed once or twice before falling still in his palm.

Unfortunately, he didn't actively want to talk about any of it either, regardless of how much he felt like Steve should know what was coming back to him.

And, really, Bucky was pretty sure it would make him happy to hear that things were coming back at all.

“I just… I know you think about it. And I know I don’t really talk about it unless I’m asking you a question or clarifying something with you.”

Steve’s hand felt heavy on his ankle, almost certainly smudging charcoal over the bare skin. “I told you; it doesn’t matter if you remember. What matters is that you’re here, and you want me around. The rest is just details.”

It sounded like such bullshit. Except he could see the earnestness in Steve’s eyes, and pick it up in his scent.

“Yeah, well. I’d say I’m close to halfway there regardless,” Bucky mumbled, shifting a bit but making sure not to actually disturb Steve’s touch. It was nice. Felt right, and Bucky didn't want to run the risk of Steve pulling away.

The estimation was wrong, though. Wanting to give Steve hope that maybe he’d be more normal if he was just given more time.

In reality, there were still a lot of gaping holes in his memory. Both before and after he fell from the train. Mostly before, which made sense but also made it harder on him. It meant he remembered orders that were issued. Remembered why the name Stark, Anthony Edward felt familiar, though it took a little longer to assign that name to Tony. It meant that he now remembered the feeling of Natasha’s mouth on his neck. Sharp, defiant, and reminding him of something he still couldn’t fully remember. Almost definitely related to Steve.

But before was starting to come back into focus a little better. Working extra hours to pay for Steve’s tuition. How his bony back felt against Bucky’s chest.

A lot of nagging and a lot of Steve picking fights he couldn’t win.

The slight stretch of the truth was worth it for how Steve lit up, blue eyes brightening even if the curve of his lips was small. “That’s real good, Buck. I’m glad.”

Bucky ducked his head a bit, warmth spreading across his cheeks. Probably, he should feel bad for not being completely honest with Steve on this account. It was hard to feel anything but pleased when he was faced with that look.

* * *

The problem with nightmares was that, while it was usually pretty easy to hide them, sometimes it was impossible to mask the aftermath.

When Bucky bolted upright before dawn, chest heaving and skin feeling uncomfortably damp with sweat, he was absolutely positive he couldn’t get away with shrugging it off as simply nothing.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, voice slurring a bit with sleep.

He wasn’t sure if the room was shaking, or if it was just him. He tried to force his breathing to slow from the hitched little near-sobs that kept getting tangled in his throat. The plates in his arm whirred constantly, shifting and recalibrating as if preparing for a fight.

It would be better, maybe, if he could even remember what it was that startled him awake to begin with. Now that his eyes were open, all he could feel was the vague impression of a man standing over him.

Glasses. He was wearing glasses, and Bucky was sure he had looked so damn smug as he looked down on Bucky.

“Hey,” Steve said, sounding a little alarmed as he sat upright himself, hands tentatively reaching for Bucky.

Bucky couldn't stop himself from practically falling into him, hands clutching Steve’s shirt as if that would somehow help ground him in the present. “It’s just a dream,” he promised, even though he doubted that the racing of his heart would do anything to help soothe Steve. “I’m ok. We’re ok.” Maybe if he said it often enough it would be true.

“What happened?” Steve seemed to take Bucky’s impulsive decision to use him as support in stride, stroking down Bucky’s back at a slow, measured pace that was easier for Bucky to try and match his breathing to.

“Wish I could remember.” Just being close to Steve seemed to help, and that just sounded absurd. That didn't change the fact that it felt true regardless. Now, in the dead of night when everything still felt a little hazy, it was easy to bury his face in Steve’s shoulder. To breathe in his scent and let it ground him, regardless of how it was tinged with the sharp notes of worry. “Soon as I woke up it was gone. Feels ridiculous to have my heart racing like this.”

Steve hummed lowly, slumping a bit. Curling around Bucky more like he was trying to protect him from a threat that wasn’t even there. “Ok. All right. You don’t remember any of it?”

The harder Bucky tried to remember, the more tenuous it felt. There were vague impressions, of course. Something akin to pain. “Think my left arm was on fire,” he mumbled. “And there was someone… I think someone was watching me, but I don’t know who it was. Or why.”

He tucked his nose against the underside of Steve’s jaw, only vaguely realizing that it probably was not a good time to start scenting Steve right here and now. Though all he did was cup the back of Bucky’s neck, silently insisting that it was ok, that he could do what he felt like he needed to do and it struck him as unreasonably sweet in spite of the fact that it was probably just the bare minimum.

“You’re safe here. It’s just you and me.”

Even though it was definitely bordering on coddling, because Bucky was very well aware that they were the only ones in the apartment, it settled something in him nonetheless.

Bucky didn't realize how rigidly he was holding his spine until he went almost limp against Steve. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, Stevie. It was just a dream.” Or a memory. But he was pretty sure Steve already knew that option.

Either way, though, it was something that was already done. A threat long since passed.

Somehow that was a less comforting thought than maybe it should have been. He couldn’t even remember what the threat had  _ been _ ; how could he even be sure it was gone now?

“Think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” Steve asked after several moments. “Or do you want me to stay up with you?”

“I’m not going to make you stay up when you already sleep less than I do.” Not that Bucky thought he would actually be able to go back to sleep. The dream may be gone, but the feeling of it seemed to linger, regardless of how Steve’s presence alone seemed to make at least the worst of it fade away. It wasn’t quite enough that Bucky wanted to risk it.

“I don’t need a lot of sleep, you know.”

Finally, Bucky managed to lift his head to properly look at Steve. He looked tired. Worn down, and Bucky felt his heart ache for him.

But he was stubborn, and Bucky knew better than try to insist with him. He had to make it seem like it was better for Bucky if he went back to sleep.

So he curled up on his side, close to Steve’s hip. “Come lay down with me,” he said softly, looking up at Steve through his lashes.

While he hadn’t quite been aiming for the heat spilling down Steve’s throat, visible even in the low light, it was hard not to feel at least a little self-satisfied about it. A small reprieve that slowed the pace of his heart.

It felt good to be able to get Steve wanting with so little effort. Something that Bucky had almost forgotten about, regardless of his insistence that they should maybe move further physically.

Steve’s movements weren’t quite hasty, but he didn't waste much time before he was laying down beside him. Eyes already looking a little heavy with exhaustion regardless of the low spark of arousal that Bucky could almost smell.

That was headier than maybe it should have been.

But now probably wasn’t the time for any of that. Even if he tried, it probably wouldn’t go over very well for either of them.

Instead of entertaining that line of thought, he tucked himself against Steve’s chest, draping an arm around his waist. Maybe, hopefully, it would help both of them get some rest.

He matched his breathing to Steve’s, resolving to write down the snippet about a man in glasses when the sun was actually in the sky.

* * *

Maybe it was because Bucky couldn’t quite get it out of his mind after that night, but he found himself looking at Steve a little bit differently now.

It wasn’t a major change. Absently, he knew he’d been paying attention to odd, subtle things like the shape of Steve’s mouth or the breadth of his shoulders. It just felt different now that he could recognize the heat low in his gut that it would occasionally spark.

The only thing that made it slightly better was that Steve seemed to be feeling it as well. While it didn't bleed into his scent constantly, Bucky wasn’t immune to the way that Steve’s eyes would occasionally darken when Bucky stretched to get something, or would lick any sort of sugar off his fingers.

And while he was aware that had also been going on for a while, it felt a hell of a lot more charged now. Now that they had talked about it and established that it was something they both wanted to try.

But with winter actually setting in, he couldn’t justify dressing in fewer layers, even around the apartment where they had heating that actually worked. And he was pretty sure languidly draping himself over the couch was less effective when he was dressed in soft sweaters and Steve’s sweatpants. And there was something wholly unromantic about just coming out and saying that he wanted Steve to bring him to bed.

Did that really matter, though? It wasn’t like a lot of how they were could be construed as romantic, unless he only looked at the bare bones of it.

The idea of ‘by each other’s sides through literal decades and figurative centuries’ sounded like some sort of movie, even if it didn't feel like one to Bucky.

“You know, I’m starting to think that you’re trying to ply me with pastries to get something out of me,” Bucky commented, picking up the last of the cinnamon rolls that Steve had brought home for breakfast.

The thought made him pause, unsure when this became ‘home’ for him. More so than the Tower, in spite of the obvious pack dynamic they had there. In spite of the fact that Steve seemed a little more sure of himself there.

“This is the only way I know how to court you, Buck. Used to give you my chocolate rations so you’d share a bedroll with me during the war.”

“You gave me your chocolate rations because you hate sweets. I was a sure thing in your bed and you knew it.”

The small grin that creeped across Steve’s lip was all the giveaway Bucky needed.

The fact that Bucky could now remember enough pieces to call Steve out on the limited bullshit he tried to pull was honestly reassuring. And the fact that all the bullshit Steve tried to pull was  _ obviously _ just slight stretching of the truth made it feel more like familiar banter than anything nefarious.

“Yeah, all right, but I still gave it to you over Dum-Dum so I should get points for that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, swiping a finger through the icing and sucking it off. Mostly so he could watch Steve’s eyes focus on the gesture, because he certainly wasn’t about to get tired of that.

And because Bucky really couldn’t help himself, he found himself saying, “Something on your mind, Stevie? You look a little distracted.”

Of course that got Steve’s eyes to snap up to his; a guilty flush racing across the bridge of his nose to the tip of his ears.

And because Bucky  _ really _ couldn’t help himself, he continued. “If you want a taste, you can just ask.”

Never mind the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. He could start the tease now and maybe just… He didn't know, come out and just say it once they were getting ready for bed?

Still supremely unromantic, but he got the feeling that they weren’t quite to the ‘spontaneous encounters with roses and candles’ part yet.

And he was pretty sure that wouldn’t be nearly as nice as it sounded anyways, so maybe it was for the best.

In spite of the fact that Bucky was openly goading Steve into it, it still caught him almost by surprise when Steve leaned across the couch, pressing their lips together in a kiss not quite chaste enough that Bucky didn't sigh into it when Steve’s tongue swiped over his mouth to get a hint of the icing.

Not surprised enough that he didn't respond in kind before sinking against the arm of the couch with a smug smirk spreading across his face. “Better.”

Steve’s soft huff of laughter warmed something in his chest as he dipped in for more. Getting Bucky to hum lowly as Steve coaxed his way past his lips and into the heat of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, the imminent arrival of that E rating. Finally. After all this time
> 
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> As always, I really do appreciate all of you. I'm kind of blown away by the response to this fic, especially since I'm still kinda new to writing ABO. You're all wonderful and I appreciate you reading, as well a the kudos and comments <3


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky was definitely angling for something. Steve was admittedly oblivious to a lot of things, but a lifetime of sharing close quarters with Bucky--both past and present--had made him at least mostly aware of his usual tells.

The fact that they hadn’t seemed to change much over the years helped a good deal.

So he wasn’t overly surprised when Bucky came to bed in one of Steve’s old shirts that had started to stretch beyond repair, worn thin like a lot of their things before the war, and almost nothing else.

“This why you were being a tease all day?” Steve asked, fitting his hand over the slight dip of Bucky’s waist and tugging him onto their bed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A smile tugged at Bucky’s lips all the same, so pleased with himself that Steve couldn’t help but lean over to kiss him.

It felt safer. More comfortable ground than talking, or holding hands in public. This was something Steve was familiar with: the slide of their lips together, the taste of him. That satisfied curl to his mouth when Steve dared to graze his teeth over the delicate skin.

If there was one thing that he remembered viscerally, it was how well Bucky always responded when someone overtly wanted him. How pleased he got, self satisfied and nearly preening under the attention.

Not that he had any issue making it clear when said attention wasn’t wanted. The difference was, Steve didn't have to step in when Bucky threw the first punch at someone. Even though that sure as hell didn't stop him from trying to do so anyways.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Steve said softly. “I know better than to fall for that coy front you like to put up.”

Bucky scoffed, placing his hand over Steve’s and squeezing gently as he guided it up to his chest. “And I know better than to think you don’t like my coy act, so I guess that makes us even.”

Steve couldn’t actually argue with that. Didn't bother trying to, either. Instead, he just hid his face in Bucky’s shoulder, breathing him in slowly as he traced over Bucky’s chest, up his collar. He didn't want to rush this. He just wanted to enjoy the sharp scent of salt, the rise and fall of Bucky’s ribs, and the warmth of his skin.

It didn't surprise him when Bucky got impatient quicker, urging Steve on top of him as gently as he could.

“And you chide at me for rushing into everything,” Steve said, settling over Bucky’s hips. Keeping enough space between them to be decent, but only barely.

“I’m a new man now, Stevie. And I’m apparently much less patient now than I was before.”

It was hard not to roll his eyes, bracing one hand over Bucky’s shoulder and tangling the other in his hair. “I think that really just means I rubbed off on you at some point.”

The glint in Bucky’s eye should have prepared Steve for his response. “I’m waiting for you to rub off on me  _ now _ .”

Heat spread across his cheeks, though that didn't stop him from tugging lightly on Bucky’s hair. Not enough to sting, or even really move him, but enough to act as at least some sort of reprimand. “I forgot how awful you run your mouth when you want it.”

“Then I guess you better stop me, huh?”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, even as he leaned down to kiss him again.

There was still that smug little smile on Bucky’s lips even as he opened up so easily for Steve. Letting him map out the familiar shape of his mouth and taste his fill. There was still a little hint of sugar there, just in the corners.

God, he’d forgotten how even that had lightning sparking in his veins, hot and urgent. Demanding that he take more, in spite of the fact that it wasn’t really  _ taking _ when Bucky was offering it.

Maybe that just made it all the better.

Steve had barely caught his breath when Bucky all but dragged him down, teeth sliding against his lips, and  _ that _ \--

Steve was entirely too weak to that.

In spite of Steve’s mental note that he wanted to go slow, take it easy, he found himself reaching under Bucky’s shirt, the waist of his briefs, just anywhere he could think to touch.

He faltered a bit at the ragged seam between flesh and the unforgiving metal.

Belatedly, Steve realized he’d never seen it before. Never asked about how it was attached, or even if he could feel anything with it.

Hesitation must have been clear on his face, since Bucky cradled Steve’s cheek with his right hand. Not guiding him closer, just thumbing the curve of his cheekbone. “It’s fine, Stevie. You can stop overthinking and just trust me on this, all right? I’ll know if I need you to stop.”

That was the kicker, wasn’t it? Before, Steve had always known what was and wasn’t ok without Bucky having to say anything. He’d been able to remember all the trouble spots, like the arch beneath his ribs and the inside his wrists, but now…

Well. There was only one way to learn what got him to tick  _ now _ .

He urged Bucky up so he could pull the shirt over his head easier, letting touch guide him before he dared to look at him properly. Getting a feel for the additional flat planes of muscle, so different from the sheer leanness of Bucky before.

And it was strange that, when Steve  _ did  _ get a good look at him, how much he still looked exactly the same as before.

It wasn’t… It shouldn’t make sense. But the line between where his shoulder ended, and the bright silver arm began felt seamless, even if it didn't look that way. The same soft pink dusted his cheeks and throat, grey eyes blown nearly black…

Some jagged, overly adoring emotion tied up his throat. Tight enough that it hurt, and that was a hell of a thing right now.

As if Bucky could feel it too--and maybe he did; Steve wasn’t sure--he reached out, touching Steve’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Blood warm, beyond gentle, and Steve couldn’t help but to lean into it. Kissing his knuckles briefly just because they were there.

“We’re all right,” Bucky said softly. “I’m right here.”

Steve laughed, surprised at how wet it sounded. He hadn’t noticed the prickling in his eyes until now, and it would have been mortifying if it had been anyone but Bucky below him.

“Sorry,” he murmured, sitting up to wipe at his eyes. “Dunno what’s wrong with me.”

Bucky hummed softly, guiding him back down with nothing but his hand against Steve’s cheek. Tipping their foreheads together. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Stevie. Don’t go apologizing for anything.”

All that did was tighten the knot in his throat. Bucky was always too understanding of him. Always taking care of him, even when it should be the other way around.

And all  _ Steve  _ could do was kiss him again, softer, trying to articulate without words just how grateful he was to Bucky for everything. Hoping he could get it through that way.

Bucky was soft with him in turn, stroking through Steve’s hair, down the back of his neck. Grazing his fingertips down the length of his spine as he pressed his knees up against Steve’s waist to cradle him properly between his thighs.

In spite being so out of practice, it was easy to fall back into a rhythm with Bucky. Dipping in to kiss him, stroking his thumbs over the arc of his hip bones before daring to press his hips flush against Bucky’s. The ridge of his cock was palpable against Steve’s, obviously hot even with the layers of fabric between them.

There were days when it felt like everything had changed. And then there were moments like this where Steve was half convinced that it was all the same. Even the chill of Bucky’s left hand against the small of his back couldn’t disrupt that.

The soft gasp when Steve dug his thumb against the hollow of Bucky’s hip was exactly sweet as it had always been, and Steve couldn’t help the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah? That so, gorgeous?” he asked softly, tugging the waist of his briefs down lower. Just letting himself feel the smooth skin and coarse curls, thankful for the lack of scarring there.

Bucky’s answering groan was at least half-exasperation. “God you’re the worst. How did I forget that? You get so goddamn smug when you’ve got me under you.”

It was hard not to laugh, almost delighted, and that was odd to reconcile with the heat pooling between his thighs. “What, just because I’m checking in with you, I’m automatically a terrible person? Those are some standards you got there, Buck.”

While Bucky rolled his eyes, anything he was going to say faltered when Steve ducked down to mouth along the length of his neck. Worrying the tendons between his teeth and reveling in the soft, wordless sound that vibrated against his lips.

He’d missed this. Hadn’t realized how much until he had Bucky laid out and pliant beneath him, urging him for more. That heavy, caramel overtone to his scent.

Patience seemed suddenly less important, wanting to finish disrobing Bucky so he could feel every bare inch against him.

Steve barely noticed his hands shaking as they unceremoniously started tugging down the remainder of Bucky’s clothing, only pausing when Bucky’s hand rested over his own.

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting up and so much closer to Steve for it.

Maybe, hopefully, he didn't want to be any further apart from Steve than he had to. God knew that Steve wouldn’t allow even an inch between them if it was at all practical.

“Just breathe, Stevie. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

The suggestion sounded almost like coddling, until Steve took a shaky breath and realized that he probably needed it. It was hard to tell if he was just too worked up, or if there was a sort of anxiety that Bucky might disappear on him if he didn't move fast enough.

Apparently Bucky could tell, given the rueful little smile before ducking in to kiss Steve. A careful, chaste little thing that felt incongruous with the fact that he was more than half naked below Steve. “There you go,” he said softly, laying back down while pushing his hips up. “It’s not new for us, right? What’re you so nervous for?”

There was a lot Steve could say to that. About how it might not have been new before but it felt new now, about how they were different now, about how he was afraid of accidentally setting something off in Bucky that ruined the whole thing.

In the end, he settled with, “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t.” Bucky pushed a hand back through Steve’s hair, pressing his fingertips against the back of his neck. Right where a mating bite would go. “Don’t overthink this. You’re trusting me, remember?”

Probably, it should be as simple as that. It should be as simple as slowing down, remembering to breathe, and the rest should come back easy as anything.

Steve was having a hard time with that regardless of that.

As if he could see where Steve’s train of thought was going, Bucky regarded him almost too thoughtfully. “Want me to take the lead this time? See if that helps you out any?”

He almost protested before thinking it through, just on instinct. That… Actually, that might work. Much like how he’d been afraid to approach Bucky when he first found him again, worried he’d bolt if Steve got too close, unsure of how skittish he was. Until Bucky told him to come closer, he’d been almost afraid to.

Maybe this would be easier, just like that had been.

“Yeah. Yes, please.”

Bucky hesitated for only a moment, assessing him, before he was pressing against Steve’s chest. Not using enough force to actually move him if he wanted to be stubborn about it--though he knew full well that Bucky was nearly as strong as he was but actually had something that resembled proper technique--but Steve gave easily. Always had, in regards to Bucky.

He found himself on his back in short order, their hands both working off each other’s clothing until there was nothing but skin, hot and flushed between them.

There was something beautiful about how Bucky looked, legs spread around Steve’s hips, dark hair waving down to his shoulders. The glint of his arm in the low lamplight. He didn't let himself hesitate before saying as much.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said softly, skimming a palm up Bucky’s side. “Always have been; don’t know how I ever got this lucky.”

Bucky hummed low in answer, leaning back against Steve’s propped up knees. Putting his cock on full display with its delicate pink color, barely wet at the tip as it bobbed in the open space between them.

Steve couldn’t resist reaching up to cup it, tracing his thumb along one of the veins and reveling in the soft sigh it garnered. The way it twitched in response.

He couldn’t feel the slick that would usually at least be making itself known where Bucky was seated on him. It was just odd considering that Bucky used to soak through blankets to the point of nearly ruining them.

Now, with his cock tucked between the cleft of his cheeks, it felt almost dry. Still hot, still enough to make his own cock jump, but different.

“Do you need…” He gestured vaguely, not actually wanting to take control back, but unable to completely stop worrying all the same.

Bucky frowned a bit, brow furrowing as he rocked his hips a bit. Grimacing at the almost rough drag before rising up to his knees. “That’s odd,” he muttered as he leaned across both Steve and the bed to rifle through Steve’s drawer.

Which didn't make sense immediately; though when Steve propped himself up to try and get a look at exactly what he was doing he belatedly remembered Tony’s care package.

He didn't know why he hadn’t considered where it had all gone to before now. Granted, he’d also tried to put it out of his mind, and it wasn’t like he’d really kept anything in that drawer anyways.

Once Bucky had resettled himself, he examined the bottle he’d grabbed. “Do you think ‘cherry flavored’ lube actually tastes like cherries, or is it going to be like the new bananas all over again?” he asked, a wry quirk to his mouth.

Steve groaned, falling back into the pillows. “I’m pretty sure  _ you’re _ the worst here.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who bought it; I think the worst should go to Tony.”

Tony. Steve didn't want to think about him right now for a whole multitude of reasons. “How about we test it out first, and maybe,  _ maybe _ I’ll give it a taste when we’re done.”

He didn't really think about the words until they had already passed his lips, cheeks burning the second he heard himself ask that.

The only consolation was the slightly shocked tilt to Bucky’s brow, an answering flush creeping down his throat. “I… Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

If nothing else, it was nice to be able to get that kind of reaction out of Bucky. Even if it didn't quite assuage his own embarrassment.

“Can I…?” Steve grasped the bottle, not tugging it out of Bucky’s grasp but at least making his intentions clear.

The darkening of Bucky’s eyes was realistically all the answer he needed, but something in him still preened at the breathy, “Yes,” while Bucky knelt up for him.

It felt cool on his fingers as Steve coated them liberally. His nose wrinkling a bit at the artificial cherry scent to the lubricant. But he was able to at least put that much out of his mind once he dragged his fingers across Bucky’s taint and pressed them against the tight furl of muscle.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, both hands braced against Steve’s chest as he seemed to force himself to relax into the touch. It wasn’t much, really. Just the softening of his brow as his back arched but that was enough, really.

He took his time, making sure to get his hole slick and soft before finally sliding a finger inside. Nearly choking on the hot pressure around just that, the hints of Bucky’s own slick that he could feel inside of him.

“Steve…”

On instinct, he looked up as whatever motion he’d been doing stilled.

And--Christ. Bucky was beautiful. A hectic blush painting his cheeks, the quiet shift of the plates around his shoulder as he took in slow, shaky breaths. It was hard to understand how this man, this gorgeous Omega, wanted  _ him _ . That wasn’t a new sentiment, and he’d learned long ago that saying anything even remotely like that out loud would just piss Bucky off.

It was a lesson he’d definitely learned the hard way.

“What is it?” he asked, belatedly. Feeling at least a little foolish for getting so easily distracted. Not that  _ that _ was new either, when it came to admiring Bucky.

There was something soft in Bucky’s eyes, a touch of a smile at his lips.

Steve couldn’t stop himself from sitting up enough to kiss him, almost able to taste the sweetness of that look.

Bucky’s palm pressed against his chest, gentle but insistently urging him back. “I was going to tell you to hurry up, but you can keep doing that if you want.”

Steve tutted, pressing in to the last knuckle just to watch Bucky’s lashes flutter as a soft moan was punched out of him. “I can’t believe I’m the patient one here.”

Still, he did as asked, laying back down and working on loosening Bucky up.

This part was more familiar. While he’d commonly get wetter than anything, that didn't always translate to him loosening up as easily.

Above him, Bucky’s breathing got more erratic, punctuated with soft moans. He braced his palms on Steve’s chest, the chill of the left hand warming up to at least match Steve’s skin.

By the time Steve had him stretched around three fingers, he could feel the more viscous slide of Bucky’s own slick, thicker than the synthetic stuff that Tony had sent to them. Bucky’s grey eyes were cloudy, barely open as he rocked down on Steve’s hand almost on instinct. Letting Steve see even a hint of the power of his thighs and hips.

That probably shouldn’t have been as attractive to him as it was, but he doubted Bucky would judge him if he knew what it did to Steve. Just knowing that Bucky could probably overpower him in an instant got his blood racing and pooling hot in his stomach. It would probably draw that smug, self-satisfied smirk out of him that never failed to get Steve’s heart to skip a beat.

Bucky let out a stuttered cry, nails digging into Steve’s chest when he twisted his wrist, pressing in as deep as he could before pulling out.

“There you go,” Steve murmured, ignoring the sting as he grasped Bucky’s ass with his slick hand. Almost able to feel more of it leak out of Bucky’s hole as he shuddered. “Ready?”

After a few moments while Bucky seemed to collect his composure, he straightened himself back up. Steve glancing down to check the red crescents decorating half of his chest and wishing they would last longer than they likely would.

“Yeah. Yeah, Stevie, I’m good.”

He had to take a slow breath, steeling himself for it. Knowing full well that he was going to have a hard time thinking clearly once Bucky was wrapped around him.

Once again, Bucky braced his left palm over Steve’s chest, the other reaching behind him to wrap a hand around Steve’s cock, the heel of it brushing right against his fledgling knot. Making him hiss, hips jerking up into the warmth of his hand and definitely getting a smirk out of Bucky.

“God you’re easy,” he murmured, lining himself up and sinking down in one smooth motion. Right down to the base without any trouble.

His mind almost instantly whited out when that tight, clutching heat enveloped his cock. Steve automatically shifted his hands to Bucky’s hips, trying not to lose it instantly like when they were teenagers.

The only consolation was how wrecked Bucky looked above him. Sharp, shaky breaths, hair curtaining his face making it hard to get a read on his expression… The familiar tremble of his thighs and shoulders as he spread himself around Steve’s hips.

It  _ felt  _ familiar, even if it wasn’t. Not really; they couldn’t run the risk of anything during the war. They’d never had a chance to see if Steve’s improved body held up better than his old one, because before the serum he sure as hell couldn’t handle the weight of Bucky on his brittle bones.

But still, Steve liked to think that he still remembered Bucky, how he was, how he liked to be fucked.

Not that it did him a lot of good while he was beneath him.

“Buck,” he prompted, throat a little tight both from emotion and nostalgia, as well as the burning need to get some friction. To feel the slide of Bucky’s rim along his length.

“Yeah, I know.” He took a slow breath, shoulders rolling back as he got himself fully upright. “Christ… Were you this big before the serum? Or is it just me being out of practice?”

Steve huffed a laugh, framing Bucky’s hips with his hands to give at least a little more support. “Probably a little of both. We never… Not after, I mean. Wasn’t sure if I was still infertile or not; couldn’t do that to you out there.”

Bucky took a moment, seeming to file that away mentally before giving his hips an experimental twist. “Maybe we’ll find out now.”

The thought shouldn’t have gotten his face to burn like it did. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about with anything but a small measure of fear before, but--

Now probably wasn’t the time to think about how that thought got his cock to twitch. Regardless of the fact that Bucky had had been the one to bring it up, because some part of his hindbrain wanted to lock onto that thought--wanted to lock onto the idea of knocking him up and bonding with him; the whole thing.

At least Bucky didn't seem inclined to wait for an answer, much less prompt Steve for one. While it felt like they had certainly taken their time to get here, Bucky was pretty quick to cut to the chase once he had relaxed enough around Steve that the push-pull of his rim felt more like a slide instead of a rough drag. Leaving Steve helpless beneath him to do anything more than hold on tight, clamping onto that urge to roll them over and drive into Bucky’s body instead.

Bucky didn't seem interested in taking it easy on him. The rise and fall of his hips felt almost brutal, the way he was obviously chasing his own pleasure rather than catering to Steve’s.

Which probably shouldn’t have got him as hot as it did, but Steve had long since accepted that he was never quite conventional.

Their hips met with a sharp ‘slap’ every time, almost as primal as the slick that now started to coat the inside of Steve’s thighs as well as Bucky’s. As the steady swell of his knot that made it harder and harder to continue to push into him.

Steve couldn’t say if he had a single coherent thought the entire time, other than how beautiful he was. How hot, and tight, and wet, and how he was so,  _ so _ lucky that he could give this to Bucky.

The pleasure built almost too quickly, careening unchecked as he could feel the skin bruising beneath his fingertips.

Above him, Bucky couldn’t seem to breathe without moaning, grasping his own cock as he continued to fuck himself onto Steve’s cock with brutal abandon.

It caught him by surprise when his knot finally  _ did _ catch and lock them together, causing Steve to tighten up, hips jerking to meet Bucky’s as he held him in place, spilling over into him. Filling Bucky up until he could practically  _ feel _ how it added to the already copious amount of slick in him.

Stars burst behind his eyes for a few blissful seconds, lost to the world around him save being locked to Bucky. He only barely heard Bucky’s strangled cry before his own hot release coated his chest.

The way he tightened around Steve’s knot just drew another jagged orgasm out of him, nails raking up Bucky’s back on his quest to drag him down. The thought of any amount of space between them sounded abhorrent, even as the wetness smeared between their chests.

It took several seconds before their breathing started to settle, and the urge to keep Bucky as close as humanly possible slightly abated.

There was something almost dream-like about the afterglow. The soft lamplight glinting off of Bucky’s arm, making his skin look more golden than usual.

The weight of him across Steve’s chest was different, but not completely unfamiliar, though feeling the odd scar beneath his fingers was something he would have to get used to.

Above him, Bucky hummed lowly, shifting his hips and making them both wince when that caused Steve’s knot to pull at his rim.

“Easy,” Steve chided softly, palm sliding down to the slight dip of his waist as if he could simply hold him still. His voice felt like gravel in his throat.

“Can’t believe you’re buried in my ass and  _ still _ fretting. Unbelievable.”

It was hard not to laugh, tucking his nose into Bucky’s neck and just… just breathing him in. The soft, contented edge to it, still reminding him of the ocean even now.

Reminding him of home.

“I missed you,” he said softly. Aware of how it sounded, but needing to put it out there anyways.

Just as he expected, Bucky scoffed, digging his nails into Steve’s shoulder for a brief moment. “Punk. I’ve been here this whole time.”

And, well. That was true enough for right now. He’d been back for months now. “I had to live years without you, Buck. Woke up in a whole new century without you.”

It was hard to remember that Bucky had done the same thing. That he’d woken up time and again without Steve, even if he didn't even remember to begin with.

At least one time, he had to have woken up, fully remembering them, and himself, and Steve hadn’t been there for him.

“Hey. Knock that off.” In spite of the harshness of the words themselves, there was a gentleness that Bucky offered them with. “We made it here. That’s what really counts at the end of it. You don’t have to keep blaming yourself for everything.”

Of course Bucky would be able to see right to the heart of the issue. Still knowing Steve down to his bones, even if so many details were missing. His breath shook as he held onto Bucky tighter, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. “I’m just grateful I got you back. I never knew what to do with myself without you.”

Bucky clicked his tongue, pushing himself upright so he could look Steve in the eye. “There’s shorter, easier ways to say you love me you know. We don’t have to dredge up your guilt for that.”

“I love you,” Steve repeated. Feeling almost shaky for letting that out after so many years, like a weight was lifted off his chest after carrying it around for decades.

It was almost worth it for the shock loosening Bucky’s jaw. As if he hadn’t actually expected Steve to say it.

The surprise seemed to fade away into something soft, fragile. The gentle lift of his brows as he leaned back down to press his lips to Steve’s forehead. “You know I love you. Couldn’t leave you if I tried.”

His throat tied up, dry hand coming to tangle in Bucky’s hair as if he could keep him close like that. Regardless of the fact that he kept his touch gentle just in case he wanted to shift back anyways.

“End of the line, huh?” he said, voice sounding almost thick as he guided Bucky down against the side of his neck.

He could feel more than hear Bucky’s answering huff of laughter. “Yeah, Stevie. Just like I said from the start.”

It was like something in his chest shattered, only to be pieced back together with gold. Hot, molten, and stronger than flesh.

Not quite like being whole again, but like something had been out of alignment had fit itself back into place after years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was definitely the borderline PWP I've been wanting to post since I started this fic
> 
> Happy Pride month, everyone. I actually went to my first Pride festival since I was, like. Eight. And miraculously didn't get sunburned in the process
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you all so much for reading <3


	19. Epilogue

_ Six Months Later _

* * *

“You’re sure about this?”

Bucky turned, making sure Steve could see him roll his eyes before turning his focus back to the Tower. “You’ve been nagging me about this for weeks, Steve. It’s just a visit; I’ll be all right.”

Ok, so nagging was probably the wrong word, but Steve had been asking about it a lot lately. Ever since Bucky had very nearly admitted outright that the arm was hurting his back, he would ask about it at least once a day until Bucky more or less got fed up with it and said he’d let Tony put the new one on him.

Which  _ then _ led to Steve worrying about going back there, so there was apparently no pleasing him.

Bucky unfortunately wouldn’t have him any other way, which probably said a lot more about him than he wanted it to.

Steve nearly sighed, grasping for Bucky’s right hand like he’d taken to doing with a strange amount of defiance, as if daring someone to say anything about it.

It was cute. Bucky squeezed his hand as Steve scanned himself into the Tower.

Tony had been warned well in advance of their arrival, and he was pleased to see that meant that JARVIS was quick to direct them down to the lab with the promise that their presence was being handled with 'the utmost discretion’.

Which Bucky was pretty sure meant that they wouldn’t be seeing anyone but Tony, and possibly Bruce.

“All right, so this is going to be super non-invasive,” Tony called, once the elevator doors opened. Before he was even in their line of sight, even. “We’re just going to sit you down, disengage what you’ve got, and this new one should pop right in.”

He could practically smell the trepidation rolling off Steve, which only served to settle Bucky down a bit. After all, only one of them could be panicking at a time. And if it was Steve, then Bucky had to be the calm one even if it was his arm that was getting replaced.

Tony finally turned the corner, wiping his hands with a rag and looking them with a critical eye. “Really? You’re gone for nearly a year and you  _ still _ aren’t mated? Come on Rogers, I told you I have money riding on this.”

It was really hard not to laugh, especially with the glare that Steve leveled at him in spite of the dark red spreading down his throat.

“We’re old fashioned, Tony. He hasn’t even bought me a nice set of nesting blankets yet; I can’t put out without those. What kind of Omega do you think I am?” He made a point to bat his eyes at Steve, reveling in the way he very nearly started sputtering in indignation. Bucky probably shouldn’t be as mean to him, but it was hard to help himself.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, looking between the two of them. Belatedly, he realized that Tony had probably never seen him this relaxed, willing to tease others, in the several months they had shared a building. He’d spent most of his time here anxious, not really speaking to anyone unless they initiated the conversation.

“All right, so Terminator either has a sense of humor, or he’s as straight laced as Steve wanted us all to believe _he_ is. And I don’t know which is the worse option.”

“He’s an asshole, Stark. Always has been and I feel like I should be compensated for my suffering.” Though, in contrast to his tone, he still refused to let go of Bucky’s hand, and there was still that soft look in his eyes.

“Yeah, ok, stop being lovey-dovey in my lab; it’s sickening. Shirt off Buck, let me see what I’m doing here.”

Apparently Bruce wasn’t going to be involved in this part, since he never made an appearance. The process itself was more nerve-wracking than Tony’s flippant tone implied, considering that when the arm came off, Bucky was almost instantly reminded of being back in the HYDRA bases. Having tests run on him, experiments.

Tony had to snap his fingers a few times before Bucky felt like he was back to himself, back in Tony’s messy lab with two sets of worried eyes on him.

“I’m fine,” he said, wincing at how raspy he sounded. He cleared his throat before trying again. “I’m here. Keep going; it’s not going to get better if we’re all just standing around doing nothing.”

Steve had wound up on his other side, keeping a near death grip on Bucky’s right hand. Probably panicking more than Bucky himself was, and that was definitely saying something.

Bucky should have asked to see the new arm before it was put on, or at least before his old one was disengaged. It didn't really cross his mind until Tony made himself scarce to go fetch it.

Steve saw it first, considering that Bucky made sure to stare straight ahead just in case seeing a different disembodied metal arm set him off again.

So he wasn’t entirely sure what it was that got Steve going so soft, suddenly. A low ‘oh’ just before Tony set up shop on Bucky’s left side again.

“Yeah, I figured you’d appreciate that,” Tony muttered. “Want to see what you’re working with here, Bucko, or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“Just put it on.”

There was a slightly irritated sound, but Tony got started anyways. “This is going to feel weird. Shouldn’t hurt, I think, but it’s going to link back up to whatever nerves are in your shoulder. If you want to go back and work on that later, we can do that but I’m pretty sure that’s something we should save for when you want to be here longer than a couple hours.”

As he was talking, there was a weird pushing sensation. Pressure, and odd sensations zipping through his arm, shoulders, and at one point his leg. Bucky grit his teeth, holding tighter onto Steve’s hand until everything settled back to almost normal.

Maybe a bit more sensitive than usual, but that might be his brain trying to make up for the several minutes without any input.

“Well?” Steve prompted softly. “How does it feel?”

Bucky took his time. Rolling his shoulders, brow furrowing as he tried to pick out anything that had changed.

“Good, I think,” he said after a few moments. It felt a little lighter, at least. But there was a chance he was imagining that and didn't want to jinx it yet.

“It should match the weight of your other arm pretty well. Kept the strength of the old one though; hope you don’t mind. I nixed a lot of my planned upgrades since I didn't get your opinion on them, but we can go over those later.”

There was something almost soothing about Tony’s babbling. The HYDRA techs never talked  _ to _ him, even about his own arm, and it helped further remove him from that mindset. He took a slow breath, standing up from the worn out leather chair he’d been settled in so he could get a better feel of the arm. Still not quite ready to look any further than to see the familiar silver, though it was definitely more muted and not quite as bright as the other one. “Thank you. Really. If I ever want to change anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Yeah, cool, great, one more thing. Just. Take a look before you go. Make sure the shoulder’s all right.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, flesh hand pausing over his shirt. The shoulder? It felt fine, or at least not much different from his old one. Still, he let Tony herd him over to a full length mirror that he highly doubted actually lived down here, given that the gilded frame that didn't even remotely match the beaten down look of every other furniture piece down here.

The first thing he actually noticed was a new sort of delicacy to the plates themselves. More fluid lines that made him think ‘art nouveau’, even though he didn't have the slightest clue where that thought came from.

But right there, right where the red star used to gleam, set a single gold wing. Smaller, finer. Less obtrusive, maybe.

It brought him back to shrugging on a dark blue coat in front of Howard Stark. The same design on little patches over his shoulders.

No wonder Steve had gotten emotional.

Bucky himself found a small knot tightening in his throat as he looked at it. At the brushed metal that felt less obtrusive than the old one’s shine, the way each plate felt more organic…

“Thank you,” he said, a little hoarsely as he tried flexing the wrist and fingers.

Everything moved so smoothly. It was a little unbelievable.

There was something almost smug in the curl to Tony’s mouth that pervaded his scent almost instantly. Proud and self-satisfied. “If you have any further issues, either of you can give me a call. Or if you just want to call and tell me how well it’s working, that’d also be great.”

Steve scoffed, and Bucky was pretty sure he was rolling his eyes. “We really appreciate it, Tones.”

“Yeah, I know.” He paused, the faint sound of clattering metal audible. “Look, the whole Djenya thing? I never  _ actually _ apologized for that. So. I’m sorry about how that went down. I just figured Nat knew what she was doing, you know? Probably should have thought it through better than I did.”

The apology caught him off guard. Bucky was under the impression that Tony didn't verbally apologize for much of anything.

He’d also figured that was what the arm and apartment had meant. And the check-ups. That they were Tony’s way of expressing his regret without him actually having to say anything.

Bucky cleared his throat a bit, finally managing to tear his eyes away from his own reflection and focus on Tony instead. Unsurprised to find him nervously fidgeting with some tools. “Yeah. I know, Tony. We’re all right, I think. The arm kinda offsets that.”

While there was no visual tell that Tony relaxed a bit upon hearing that, Bucky got the sense that a fair bit of tension bled out of him upon hearing that. “All right. Ok, good. So we’re fine?” He chanced a look at Steve as well, as if he was the one Tony was actually worried about.

Well. Actually, Steve probably  _ was _ the one he was actually worried about.

Steve seemed to have trouble talking, still looking at Bucky and his new arm with a sort of soft, dumbstruck expression. “I think this finally squares us away, Tones. Thank you.”

There were a few more niceties exchanged, Steve insisting that, while they might come back eventually, they weren’t planning on it right now. Eventually they found themselves back on the elevator up; Bucky’s new hand locked with Steve’s and his shirt sleeve rolled up to display the new marking.

Whatever tenuous, hopeful feeling the two of them were basking in shattered when the elevator doors opened to reveal Natasha.

It wasn’t that Bucky had thought there was no chance of seeing her. That was one of the reasons it took him so long to agree to this to begin with.

For all that he’d built her up in his head… She looked smaller, somehow. He’d always been aware that she was maybe as tall as Steve used to be, but now it felt like he was only now seeing that truth.

Her shoulders were still held square, chin up, and yet… 

Bucky sighed, overly aware of how Steve tensed up beside him. The way his grasp tightened, and a sort of aggression almost immediately started to permeate the small space. “What is it, Natalia?”

For whatever it was worth, she didn't make any move forward. Just watched the two of them. “I wondered why Tony was holed up in his lab for so long.” Her gaze flickered to the new arm. “The wing suits you. I wondered if he was going to stay with that plan.”

“You--”

“Steve,” he interrupted, sounding a hell of a lot calmer than he felt.

While Steve hadn’t actually moved forward, he could very much feel him almost fall back, deferring to Bucky.

The odd look that Natasha shot him with just grated on his nerves, crawling uncomfortably over his skin. “We were just about to leave. Is there something you wanted?”

That seemed to  _ actually _ catch her off guard, lips pursing. “You’re not staying?”

He could feel Steve start to move forward, only to stop the second Bucky tightened his own grip.

“No, we were just getting the new arm before going back home.” Regardless of the way his stomach churned uncomfortably, Bucky’s tone was level. Calm, even. He sounded a lot more relaxed than he felt, but he was pretty sure that played to his favor.

Natasha looked like she wanted to shift uncomfortably, eyes darting between the two of them. “You know I was doing what I thought was best, right? None of it was personal, or supposed to hurt you.”

It apparently didn't take much more than that for Bucky’s well-controlled temper to flare up. “That doesn’t even matter, though. Regardless of  _ how _ you meant it, do you have any idea how much stress that put me under?”

Almost thankfully, she didn't say a word. But she didn't look actually remorseful either, which didn't make Bucky feel any better about the prospect of moving back in here one day.

And Steve’s reaction to that lack of remorse made him wonder if that would even be a good idea, to come back for an extended period of time.

Maybe that was something they’d have to work up to, if they did it at all.

“I told you that it wasn’t something that was meant to hurt. I was just doing what I wish someone had done for me. That’s all.”

And maybe that was the crux of it, at the end of the day

It almost felt at looking at Natasha through new eyes. Not as someone who might be trying to help, or someone who had deliberately misled him--regardless of the fact that both of those things were true--but as someone who didn't feel like her own problems were handled correctly, and saw Bucky as a chance to correct it. He’d been her unknowing guinea pig, but also a source for her own catharsis.

He swallowed thickly, eyes dropping. “All right. Well. We know two ways that don’t work. I’d say maybe third time’s the charm, but I don’t think we’re going to find another person with these circumstances.”

It wasn’t quite… Bucky wouldn’t say he was trying to be conciliatory. Or placating.

Hell, he wasn’t even trying to find common ground at this point.

Natasha laughed, a little hollow, and Bucky was pretty sure she backed up a step or two. Giving them room. Whether it was because of Bucky, or because of the way Steve was nearly shaking he couldn’t tell but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

“Well. Steve has my number if either of you want to get in touch. It’s not quite home without you, you know.”

“If Tony couldn’t guilt me into coming back, I don’t think you’re going to have much better luck,” Steve said drily. “But… I’ll be in touch. Maybe meet on neutral ground once things settle.”

Bucky caught the half nod that Natasha offered before she turned on her heel. “I’ll leave you two alone until then. But, really Steve? Moving back into that same apartment I set you up with probably wasn’t the best place if you were trying to hide.”

At least Steve seemed to somewhat relax, though there was still enough tension in the air that Bucky could feel it weighing him down. “Nat, if I was trying to hide, you would have had a harder time than that tracking me down.”

There was a hint of amusement that leaked into Natasha’s scent, and Bucky wasn’t sure if that made him more or less on edge.

Thankfully, that seemed to be as close of a ‘goodbye’ as they were going to get from her, considering that she somehow managed to make herself scarce even with the two of them blocking the elevator.

Steve seemed to deflate at that, leaning against Bucky’s side. They both listened to the plates recalibrate, softer now than before.

“All right,” Bucky said, gently nudging him off. “Let’s go back home, huh? I’ll let you buy me chocolate on the way.”

“Oh, you’ll  _ let me _ spoil you some more.”

Bucky couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, punk. I’m going to let you.”

He was ridiculously fond of the soft huff of laughter he earned, feeling his heart swell a little bit. Realistically, he knew they both had a long way to go until things could even be called ‘perfect’.

Bucky was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to waste a second of that journey, though. And he got the feeling Steve felt the same way.

It wasn’t much, maybe. But it was a damn good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! It's really bittersweet to be closing out this fic, really. I started writing it around the beginning of this year and it's a little melancholy to have it over and done with. That said, I do have another fic in the work that I might start posting as soon as next week, but we're going to see how that goes.
> 
> You've all been great, and I so so appreciate you taking your time to read this, whether you've been keeping up from the start, or if you just picked it up when it was completed. Thank you <3


End file.
